“Who’s he?” Darrow bit out the words. They sounded like a hiss as they escaped through his clenched teeth.

The furious tone of his voice seared through her body till every nerve tingled with foreboding. She could hear the frantic hammering of her heart against her tightening rib cage.

“He’s my son,” she managed at last, though her voice was a thin whisper of despair. His grip on her arm tightened at her words, but he remained silent, his body rigid with tension.

“I didn’t know you had a child.” His voice was a harsh whisper, as if some sharp pain was trapped in his throat. Megan looked at him anxiously, her whole body trembling as she watched his gaze switch swiftly back to Luke, staring at him with an intensity that unnerved her.

“And the father?” Darrow drawled, his eyes darting back to hers and fixing on her with an icy intent.

CATHERINE O’CONNOR was born and has lived all her life in Manchester, England, where she is a happily married woman with five demanding children, a neurotic cat, an untrainable dog and a rabbit. She spends most of her time either writing or planning her next story, and without the support and encouragement of her long-suffering husband, this would be impossible. Though her heroes are always wonderfully handsome and incredibly rich, she still prefers her own loving husband.

Sweet Lies
Catherine O'Connor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

THE Yorkshire hills rose majestically over the shimmering vast waters of Lake Rannaleigh, their towering peaks already lost in the cold grey mists that were rolling slowly down over the rugged russet-brown hills. Megan Parkinson released the pressure on the accelerator without even being aware of her action, her heart twisting with a sudden sharp pain at the sight of the well-remembered scene. The car slowed down to a virtual stop and Megan allowed herself a moment of uncharacteristic self-indulgence. A ghost of a smile flickered over her face as her expressive green eyes softened with sentimental tears.

Everything was just as she remembered it: the tiny square, the two small hotels, happily co-existing, sharing the steady flow of tourists, and Mrs Bain’s name was still painted in bold black capital letters across the top of the corner shop. It sold absolutely anything anyone could ever need, as well as being the only post office for miles around. Megan remembered it all affectionately, a gentle sigh escaping from her softly parted lips.

Her eyes clouded momentarily with sudden doubts as too many memories flooded into her mind, disturbing her snatched moment of tranquillity. She bit nervously, her teeth sinking tenderly into her full bottom lip as all her nerves tensed uneasily. She cast a quick, protective glance over her shoulder at the innocently sleeping form curled up on the rear seat. He looked surprisingly fragile in repose. His delicate features took on a fragile quality that denied his physical strength and determined character, which were only recently was becoming a problem for her.

An instinctive smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, curling her full lips as she looked at him. The metamorphosis had already started; he was beginning to look more and more like his father with each passing day. Megan wondered whether she was just over-sensitive to his looks, searching for resemblances, a part of her hoping that he would look like his father. Though the thought caused equal amounts of pain and pleasure to her, Megan knew she had no control over the situation. Her expression softened as she reached out and tucked the car-rug around her son’s unprotected shoulders.

At that moment the bright glare of headlights flashed at her, causing her to blink rapidly. She jumped as a car overtook her, its horn blaring at her obstruction. She caught a glimpse of the hard profile of the driver’s handsome face as he sped past. Her head spun round, drawn by the familiar visage, her heart contracting violently within her. Megan stared after the car, all the old pain resurfacing with a cruel vengeance. Her eyes remained fixed on the rear lights, as if trapped by their brightness, till they were tiny pin-pricks of red fading into the distance.

‘It couldn’t have been him,’ she said aloud to herself. ‘Not here, not now.’ She felt her teeth clamp against each other as she ground the words through her clenched mouth and struggled to contain the rise of panic that was surging through her trembling body. It was her mind playing tricks, she told herself, trying to remain calm as her heart began to thud painfully against her tight chest.

Just coming back here was enough to stir up so many hidden ghosts and bitter memories.

The frown deepened across Megan’s brow as she questioned the wisdom of returning, but circumstances beyond her control had forced her return, she remembered with a painful twist of her heart.

Much to her regret, Megan hadn’t been able to come back for her mother’s funeral. Her death had been so sudden—a traffic accident—and Luke had still been in hospital, undergoing a series of tests while doctors sought the cause of his illness, and she couldn’t leave him. He had been much too ill and frightened. She hoped her mother would have understood, but she doubted whether the rest of the community had. She could imagine the scandal her absence had caused and shook her head. She had been forced to leave Rannaleigh all those years ago to avoid scandal. She knew that the past would never stop haunting her but surely, she kept reassuring herself, that driver could not possibly have been him? Not Darrow Maine.

She resumed her journey, but that fleeting glimpse only served to remind her of the gamble she had taken in coming back. A bitter smile twisted her mouth. Maybe nothing here had changed but she had. She had left here a broken-hearted young girl, but she was returning a fully mature woman, with a rapidly growing son. But had her heart ever really mended? a taunting whisper mocked her. Wasn’t part of her still a young girl, longing for her past, so that she imagined that Darrow Maine had just driven past her? Megan shook her head in an attempt to shake the doubts that niggled in the back of her mind.

Dusk was falling as she parked the car outside the reception area. The sky was a water-colour grey and a cold moon was already hanging in the sky like a huge silver coin. Megan closed the car door quietly, so as not to wake her precious child. She shivered. There was an icy nip in the evening air and her warm breath made clouds in the dusky light. She pulled her cashmere coat closer around her, its thick collar reaching up to her ears as she strode over the car park, her feet crunching on the gravel path. A smile of satisfaction touched her lips at the unstated elegance of the interior. At least she had returned home in style, she mused, wondering how long it would take for word to get round that she was back.

Megan smiled warmly as she reached out for the keys to her lakeside lodge, eager to settle in, but her smile froze, her breath stolen painfully from her as the searing shock of recognition swept over her. It was Darrow.

She was barely aware of the weight of the keys as the receptionist dropped them heavily into her outstretched palm, though instinctively her fingers closed tightly around the cold metal, glad of the feel of something solid as her whole world seemed to come crashing down around her. She was no longer listening to the hotel receptionist; all her senses were trained on the silent, menacing figure that had suddenly appeared behind her.

She stiffened in absolute dread as his cold, dark eyes fixed on her with an electrifying intensity. She felt her breath catch in her tightening chest as she faced him. His hard, icy gaze sent a shiver of apprehension through her body. It was so unlike him. He was a completely changed man, cold and aloof.

Had she fooled herself for all these years? she questioned herself silently. Had she held on to an image that had been self-created, a dream of a man who had only ever existed in her foolish young mind? She had clearly remembered those eyes as soft and gentle, holding a shining light of loving warmth touched with a wicked gleam that mirrored his zest for life. Now they were like freezing shards of ice, cruel and ruthless. Megan shut her eyes momentarily, to block out the image she now saw, a mockery of the man she had known.

She dragged her eyes from his hard, hypnotic gaze and concentrated on the receptionist, forcing herself to appear calm though her mind was a riot of emotions and thoughts. She never would have come back if she had known he was here. It was painful enough having to return, to rake up all the old memories, without the added problem of him being here. She smiled politely as she took the sheaf of papers being handed to her, nodding in agreement as she moved back, eager to be away from him. She could still feel his icy blue eyes searing into the very depths of her soul, as if searching for some trace of the girl he had known. Megan’s eyes darted quickly back to his but she could detect no glimmer of recognition, and, despite everything, that hurt.

‘Megan.’ His low voice was unmistakable, its deep and resonant tone instantly recognisable. She felt the panic rise in her chest as a fleeting shiver of expectation. Yet gone was the familiar intimacy she remembered; there was only a trace of bitter humour in his tone. She turned, her expression questioning, though her blood had chilled to freezing within her. Her agitation was growing with every passing minute as she met the cool appraisal of his eyes.

‘Yes?’ she said politely, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil as she caught the familiar scent of his aftershave that teased half-forgotten secrets back into her mind. His eyebrows rose swiftly, as if he was amused by her cool fade. ‘Can I help you?’ Megan asked, keeping her voice distinctly polite as she looked at him, disturbed by the changes she saw there.

There was a strain to his expression, a sharpness to his handsome features that had not been there before, but his mouth was as sensuous as ever, still full of the heady promise of love—love that she had given so willingly and foolishly. Megan tried to suffocate the growing resentment she felt at his presence and the threat it posed. It had been difficult enough to come back, especially under the circumstances, without him being here to exacerbate the situation.

‘It’s been a long time, Megan,’ he commented drily, ignoring her question as his eyes travelled quickly over her body with an intensity that heated her blood. She stiffened slightly under his deliberate scrutiny, hating the effect that his close proximity was having on her, and she forced her body to relax, casually flicking her red hair from her face.

‘Thirteen years is a long time, Darrow,’ she agreed, her voice unexpectedly composed, carefully hiding the confusion that raged beneath her cool exterior.

He nodded slowly in agreement, a frown creasing his brow. ‘You’ve changed,’ he noted, nodding appreciatively.

Megan allowed herself a secret smile. She certainly carried the veneer of confidence well. The skilfully applied make-up and expensive clothes all helped to create the image of a confident, outgoing woman, but inside she was still the little girl searching for the love and security that she had never really known, and which she was determined to give her own son. A sudden wave of panic surged through her body as she thought of the damage Darrow’s presence could have on Luke.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said serenely, pushing her fears to the back of her mind. ‘Shall I?’ she added, her veneer slipping under his intense scrutiny.

‘Yes,’ he replied, his eyes never leaving her face, and she felt a touch of heat colour her cheeks.

‘You’re looking well,’ she returned, hating this banal conversation, but she was at a complete loss as to what to say under the circumstances. He did look well, too, she mused. The years had only added to his strength of character. His body was as firm and lean as ever, but he had always enjoyed sports of all kinds—a real outdoor man, she remembered with painful clarity. ‘Older, perhaps,’ she finally acknowledged, fixing a smile on her face.

‘None of us is getting any younger,’ he agreed with a smile, then added seriously, ‘And yet there was a time when we couldn’t wait to be older, remember?’

Remember? How could she ever forget, when she carried with her the constant symbol of their love? It had been love—at least then. Until he had gone to America and fallen in love with someone else, all in a matter of a few months. They had loved each other deeply and that was the reason why she had never told him. She had not wanted to stand in his way.

A grey veil of unshed tears filmed her eyes as her mind drifted back to that fateful day. It hadn’t been a deliberate ploy, but once she had found herself pregnant, Megan had thought that no one would stop them marrying. She had longed to tell Darrow, to see the pleasure on his face when she told him the wonderful news.

But he had had news of his own, she remembered with pain. A chance of a lifetime. He had won a writing scholarship—a year in America. She couldn’t have told him, robbed him of his chance to become a writer, stood in the way of his ambition. She had known how much that meant to him, and besides, he’d be back, so she had foolishly thought.

‘Some of us grew up very quickly anyway,’ she said with sudden bitterness as she recalled how he had betrayed her.

At first he had kept in touch. Letters had arrived three or four times a week, and Carrie had been mentioned in every one. Then nothing for one whole month, not a line, and she had known. She had understood what had happened.

He had mentioned Carrie, a girl he had met, in all his previous letters and they had obviously been seeing a lot of each other. Megan had known that she couldn’t compete with an attractive American who had wealth and position while she had nothing to offer to him—and how that had hurt. The pain of separation had been almost unbearable, but the realisation that she had lost him forever had seared her very soul.

She watched him stiffen now at the sharpness of her voice and it gave her a grim pleasure. ‘I was glad to get away,’ she added, throwing at him a final insult, reminding him that she too had found someone else even if her relationship with Karl had only been a fiction to save her pride. She was delighted when she saw that it irritated him.

‘So why come back now?’ he questioned. There was a trace of hidden anger in his tone, an unspoken accusation that he was unable to make. Megan felt a sudden surge of anger through her body but she quickly masked it. She had to remain as cool and as distant as he. She would never, ever give him the satisfaction of seeing her respond to him, no matter how difficult that might be.

‘My mother—’ she began simply, but he cut in, embarrassed by his own insensitivity.

‘I forgot, I’m sorry, Megan,’ he reassured her, for a fleeting moment looking like the young man she had known, so that the ice around her heart melted a little, warmed by his sympathy. He pushed his thick dark hair from his face, revealing an attractive touch of grey to his temples, a sad reminder that time had indeed travelled on, forcing an unbridgeable chasm between them.

She remembered that hair, falling gently between her eager fingers, soft and warm, and a faint tint of colour rose to her face at the memory which sprang so easily to mind. She promptly tried to dismiss it, struggling to return her thoughts to more neutral ground. She smiled briefly as their eyes met and held with the strong tie of the past. She dropped her head, turning away, knowing that he had seen the misting of her eyes in memory of what might have been. They had been so young, so in love…

The years they had been apart seemed to vanish as Megan’s mind drifted back to those heady, magical days when everything had seemed so perfect.

Darrow, despite everyone else’s doubts, had kept in touch with Megan the whole time he was at university, but the separation caused by his year in America had proved his love for her was not strong enough. He had found someone else and abandoned her—not that she would ever have let him know that. Her pride wouldn’t have let her. She had played him at his own game. She had exaggerated her friendship with Karl, the attractive German hitch-hiker who had been taking a walking holiday in the Yorkshire dales and had stayed for the rest of the summer, doing casual work at the local boat-yard.

‘Megan,’ he said huskily, moving closer, taking full advantage of her momentary lapse. A shudder of anguish tore through her body and she raised her hands before her, to prevent him from touching her. Megan knew her barriers would never be strong enough to cope with his touch.

She was already too vulnerable, weakened by the flood of emotions that were sweeping over her. It had been such a difficult year. Luke had been stricken by a general malaise that had baffled doctors for a time before their diagnosis of glandular fever. Then there had been her mother’s sudden death, and now her return home, after all those years of being away.

‘Don’t,’ she ordered, but her voice was weak and it sounded more like a desperate plea, whispered in hope. ‘Darrow, my mother’s death…coming back here…’ Her voice trailed off as his strong fingers curled around her wrists, drawing her hands down. His impetuous action caught her off guard, and the impact of the sudden warm touch on her skin riveted her to the spot.

‘Why not? Why have you come back?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘You knew I was here. Didn’t you…?’ His tone had taken on a steely edge and his grip had intensified, forcing an immediate denial from Megan. Her eyes darted to his, searching his face for compassion but finding none, and his question troubled her; what did he think she had come back for? She struggled fruitlessly against his stubborn strength.

‘No, you’re wrong; I had no idea,’ Megan protested, alarmed by the thunderous clouds that swirled in the darkest depths of his eyes. She tried to pull away but her actions were futile; he was far too strong for her and her reaction only served to fuel his temper.

‘Then why now?’ he derided with a cruel sneer, the contempt etched clearly on his ruthless face, pulling her closer till their bodies almost touched. Megan tensed every fibre of her body as the haunting aroma of his aftershave teased her nostrils, flooding her with agonising memories.

‘I’ve told you—I’m here to sort out my mother’s estate,’ protested Megan, confronting his anger with complete candour, and she saw the flickering realisation in his eyes as he released her, his anger suddenly appeased. For a split-second she had seen the cool mask of indifference fall away and she stepped back in confusion.

‘Of course. I’m so sorry about your mother.’ His voice was now smooth and good-tempered, as if his outburst had never happened, which increased Megan’s confusion still further.

‘Don’t be,’ Megan replied quickly, as eager as him to put the strange incident behind her. ‘We never really got on, were never that close,’ she confessed, without a trace of remorse. She had come to accept their differences a long time ago.

It had been partly her mother’s fault that she had had to leave Rannaleigh; they would have never agreed about the situation. She had always been far too conventional for her mother, a disappointment in so many ways, yet they had kept in contact, grown closer over the years. Her mother, who had doted on her grandson, had made numerous visits to London, but Megan had never felt comfortable with the idea of going back to Rannaleigh, and by then her mother had understood her reasons and supported them. It was one of the few things they had come to agree on. Megan’s mother had respected her daughter’s independence. It had been the one thing they had in common besides their love for Luke.

Darrow remained silent, his expression fathomless, his dark eyes brooding.

‘I couldn’t make the funeral,’ she explained painfully, filling in the silence that only seemed to increase the tension between them. ‘But I’ve come now,’ she added lightly, her features impassive, displaying none of her inner hurt. But he caught the note of tension in her voice and his lips parted into an understanding smile. Megan dropped her own gaze, unable to bear the compassion in the shining eyes.

‘She was a strong individual, your mother,’ he said graciously. ‘Unfortunately she expected the same from everyone else,’ he concluded, a grimness entering his tone, and Megan knew he was remembering the painful scenes between herself and her mother which he had been an unwilling spectator to.

She felt her cheeks grow hot as a vivid flash of those adolescent arguments flashed through her mind. Yet, despite everything, in the end her mother had been right. Darrow was not to be trusted. Megan had been forced to admit it. They had been too young to be truly in love and when Darrow’s love had been tested he had failed her so spectacularly that she still remembered the twist of the knife searing her heart.

‘Are you planning on staying?’ His eyes narrowed on her face and she wondered where his source of annoyance was coming from. Surely she was the injured party, not him, and she felt a justifiable anger niggle inside her, deep down in the hidden well of emotions that she knew would belong forever to her first love.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully. Until that moment she had thought of it only as a passing visit; now her heart seemed to be aching to stay. ‘I don’t think so.’

She desperately scanned his face, but found nothing to encourage her to change her mind. She swallowed the painful lump that caught in her throat at the realisation that she had hoped to find some trace of affection. ‘There’s nothing for me here. There never was,’ she added, a trace of bitterness entering her tone, and her eyes met his in silent confirmation.

‘Wasn’t there?’ he snapped tautly. His anger was now well under control, but Megan could see the signs of its brittleness. His eyes had darkened into swirling inky pools of molten fierceness that betrayed his growing fury.

‘It was all such a long time ago, Darrow.’ She looked away as she shook her head, hating the sense of betrayal that was resurfacing after all this time. ‘I have to go. Excuse me.’ She flicked an anxious glance towards the door, suddenly agitated.

‘Wait,’ he ordered, his arm outstretched to prevent her moving. ‘I want to talk to you.’ His look was hard and demanding, his tone honed with the sharp steel edge of command.

Megan froze, responding instinctively to the authority in his tone, then hated herself for her weakness. She was no longer the silly girl he had known, susceptible to his overpowering strength.

‘There’s nothing to say,’ Megan snapped back, suddenly fearful. She couldn’t afford to be alone with him. How long could she trust herself in his company without the past coming back to haunt them? They were strangers now, she inwardly argued, despite the disturbing effect he was having on her. What do I know of him? He must have changed. Have I? she mused desperately.

‘I think there is.’

Megan gasped as she fought to save her breath, suddenly fearful, and without being aware of her action her eyes flew quickly to the door as an icy grip tightened around her heart. She knew she could not afford the luxury of basking in the past. There was her son to consider.

Yet even now, after all these years, and though she felt her defences weakening against him, she knew it was not only herself she had to protect from this dangerous man. She moved slightly away, carefully surrounding herself in a protective layer that she hoped he would find impregnable. His smouldering eyes held her trapped, and Megan tried to pull away as she felt her pathetic barriers begin to melt.

‘Have dinner with me tonight?’ he asked gruffly, his tone full of tension, a pulse throbbing in the strong line of his jaw. ‘Here in the hotel,’ he added quickly, seeing the refusal already present in her eyes.

‘No,’ she objected, too quickly, betraying her fear, her eyes straying to the door as she thought of Luke. He seized on her fear with characteristic aggression, a smile of victory already curling his sensuous mouth, revealing a set of perfect white teeth.

‘For old times’ sake,’ he crooned, his voice dangerously soft and a hidden invitation swirling in the slumberous depths of his hypnotic eyes. Megan nearly weakened, drowning all her doubts in the familiar glow of his heated gaze, her own eyes softening in response. ‘It’s the least you owe me.’

Steel had entered his voice, a harshness she had not expected, and her eyes leapt to his face, troubled by his words. But the freezing look of contempt that glistened in the icy depths of his eyes prevented her from speaking. She frantically searched his face, looking for a glimpse of the man she had once known.

‘Well, Meggie?’ he taunted, using her familiar pet name to weaken her still further. He had sensed her distrust and was playing on it, his eyes shining now with teasing laughter, and in that brief moment she caught a sudden flash of the man she had once known and loved. He reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder, and Megan’s stomach twirled with an instinctive excitement at the impact his unexpected touch had on her. And in that transient moment she might have weakened, but the door suddenly swung open.

An icy draught of cold air blasted towards them, chilling the warmth that had begun to grow between them. They both turned simultaneously to see a tousled-haired youngster with a harsh look of resentment on his face. He fixed his cold eyes on the pair of them, his disapproval at their close proximity apparent in his narrowing eyes and mounting frown.

For a moment he said nothing. His stare flicked quickly to Darrow, making a swift but comprehensive inventory of him, before he turned his attention back on to Megan. A look of scorn flickered across his face and he raised his eyebrows in mockery.

‘You’ve been ages,’ he said sullenly, directing his accusation at Megan and deliberately cutting out Darrow’s presence.

‘I’m sorry,’ Megan stated briefly, annoyed by his obvious rudeness. ‘I thought you were asleep,’ she concluded, casting an anxious covert glance at Darrow to see his reaction to her child. His eyes shone with curiosity, a quizzical expression on his face as he studied him with deep interest.

‘I woke up.’ It was a bald statement accompanied by another look of resentment, the dark brows drawing together over the glitter of frustration in his eyes.

‘Obviously,’ agreed Megan, calmly looking at her son who over the past few months had seemed to be slowly changing into a total stranger. His glandular fever hadn’t helped; it had left him a little weak, and Megan knew she was being over-protective but she couldn’t help herself, despite the resentment it caused in Luke. She was so frightened of the thought of losing him, just as she had lost his father, that she was totally confused as to how she should behave.

They had always been so close, him so caring and gentle, but now he was sometimes rude and often distant. A typical teenager, Megan tried to reassure herself, but his behaviour still hurt more deeply than she cared to admit. This chance of a holiday was just what they both needed to re-establish their bond. They faced each other now, an improbable discomfort widening the chasm that was beginning to develop between them. The deadly lull only added to the already tense atmosphere as the three of them stayed locked each in their own inner turmoil.

Megan was aware of the stiffening of Darrow beside her as he purposefully fixed his whole attention on Luke. Luke held his gaze with equal hostility and Darrow’s lips twisted as Luke continued to stare at him stubbornly with cold contempt. Megan found herself struggling to subdue a hysterical bubble of laughter that was growing with every passing moment. It was ironic for father and son to stand so close, watching each other with such deep interest, and be unaware of their relationship.

‘Are you coming now?’ demanded Luke, already turning to leave. Megan moved forward, following him anxiously. She desperately wanted to keep them well away from each other but Darrow’s arm shot out, gripping her tightly around the upper arm. His iron hold warned her that his formidable temper was about to erupt. Meggie’s head swirled around, her heart already thudding out a death-knell as she confronted the black darkness that filled his eyes. Had he realised the truth? she thought suddenly, feeling sick.

‘Who’s he?’ he bit out, the words sounding like a hiss as they escaped through his clenched teeth.

The furious tone of his voice seared through her body till every nerve tingled with foreboding, her mouth suddenly went dry and she flicked her tongue nervously over her lips. Her mind went blank. She stood rooted to the spot, her face draining of all colour as she faced the dark fury that was building with every passing moment. She could hear the frantic hammering of her heart against her tightening ribcage.

‘He’s my son,’ she managed at last, though her voice was a thin whisper of despair. His grip tightened at her words but he remained absolutely silent, his body rigid with tension. Megan knew he was fighting some inner doubt and she waited, mentally praying for her escape.

‘I didn’t know you had a child.’ His voice was a harsh whisper, as if some sharp pain was trapped in his throat. Megan looked at him anxiously, her whole body trembling as she watched his gaze switch swiftly back to Luke, staring at him with an intensity that unnerved her. She silently prayed over and over again that soon she would be free. The last thing she wanted was for Luke to find out the truth. Their relationship was already on thin ice at the moment. She had only recently heard the painful longing in his voice when he spoke of the father he had never known.

‘And the father?’ he drawled, his eyes darting back to hers and fixing on her with an icy intent. Megan felt a flush of colour to her face as she struggled to keep her emotions under control. She normally deftly avoided any questions, but she knew Darrow would not be so easily swayed.

‘Karl Meyer, my husband,’ she retorted, her voice growing stronger as she trotted out the well-worn lie. A lie she had been forced to invent to protect herself and her son against the pain of his rejection. Darrow’s eyebrow’s lifted slightly, his mouth thinning to an angry line.

‘And where’s Karl now?’ he demanded, the self-assurance in his voice irritating her more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

‘My husband died several years ago,’ Megan replied frostily, hating the intrusion into her private life. He had given up his rights to that with his betrayal.

‘And he is your only child?’ he asked, a tightness in his voice as he looked deep into her eyes, and Megan quickly lowered her long lashes over her eyes to prevent him from seeing the truth that she knew she would be unable to hide from him.

‘Yes.’ Megan forced a smile, though her insides were churning with despair. Was he jealous or merely curious? she wondered, a sudden ache piercing her heart.

‘He doesn’t look like you…’

‘No,’ snapped Megan quickly. ‘He takes after his father.’ Her eyes couldn’t quite meet his as she replied.

‘Are you coming?’ Luke’s voice was sharp as he turned back, glaring at them both with obvious disapproval. Megan gave an apologetic smile to Darrow, but he seemed unperturbed by Luke’s rude outburst and strolled over to meet him. Luke watched his approach with caution, his face sulky, the silence only adding to the tense atmosphere. Darrow broke the silence with his customary ease, as if oblivious to the tension between the mother and her child.

‘My name is Darrow,’ he offered, his voice firm, full of authority. He stretched out his hand, his gesture more one of challenge than friendship, and Megan mentally prayed that Luke would respond. For a moment she thought her prayers had been wasted and her heart shrank within her as a sudden shaft of piercing pain seared through her. For a brief moment she thought her heart would break in two; just seeing them together held a bittersweet pain. ‘I’m an old friend of your mother’s,’ he continued, taking Luke’s hand in a firm grasp. ‘I was trying to persuade her to have dinner with me this evening.’

‘She can if she wants,’ muttered Luke, trying to sound careless, yet suddenly he seemed so vulnerable to Megan and her heart went out to him. The mask of manhood that he tried so hard to wear often slipped.

‘I had no idea she had to have your permission,’ drawled Darrow, with a friendly smile, but it was not returned. Luke was unable to match Darrow and did not know how to respond.

Megan joined them, part of her wanting them to at least like each other. Her eyes darted frantically from Luke to Darrow, sensing their disapproval of one another, and her heart slowly sank within her. It had been a fleeting dream that they had both shattered.

‘I knew Darrow a long time ago, Luke,’ Megan explained breathlessly, the pain catching in her throat at the obvious antipathy. Luke nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing; his eyes were fixed on Darrow with deep interest and suspicion.

‘Come on, we’d best get settled in,’ cajoled Megan, tossing the keys in her hand in a carefree gesture that was far removed from her true feelings. She knew now that her return was on a disaster course, but she was powerless to do anything about it. She turned as she opened the door to allow Luke to leave, then she turned back to Darrow, and forced her voice to sound light, almost friendly.

‘It was nice to see you again, Darrow.’ Her cool tone did not betray the turmoil of emotions that were twirling around inside. ‘Perhaps we’ll meet again some time,’ she added, confident that she would not see him again, and yet that caused a sharp pain deep down inside.

Darrow’s mouth widened into a perfect smile, triumph curling the corners of his sensuous mouth as he viewed Megan with a cool air of superiority. Megan shuddered as her eyes rose to his, trying to fathom where his amusement came from and not trusting him an inch. She knew him too well to be fooled by his casual stance. His hand rested on the door-handle, opening it still wider to allow her to leave.

‘No doubt we will,’ he agreed, in a smoky voice that put Megan on edge, every nerve in her body suddenly alerted to some hidden danger.

‘What do you mean?’ she breathed raggedly, hating the storm of emotion that was sweeping through her body. His smile twisted in cruelty and his eyebrows rose in mockery; a rumble of laughter sounded deep in his chest.

‘You mean you really don’t know?’ he asked in disbelief, the mocking light in his eyes holding her trapped, unable to move.

‘Know? Know what?’ demanded Megan, a spiral of fear twisting up her spine and a cold dread seeping over her trembling frame.

Darrow inclined his head backwards. ‘This is mine—my hotel, my complex.’ The cold, proud possession in his voice confirmed what he was saying, and Megan gasped in horror.

‘Yours?’ she whispered in disbelief, hoping for a denial and yet already knowing it was the truth. Her heart shrank within her. She had been such a fool, allowing the travel agent to make all the arrangements. She would have certainly noticed the name of the proprietor, and never would even have dreamt of coming here, and now it was too late. She knew there was little chance of accommodation anywhere else in peak season, and besides, she didn’t want to give him the impression that his presence made any difference to her.

‘Yes, Megan, mine,’ he replied in a controlled voice, but Megan could see the malice in the depths of his ruthless eyes. ‘I told you I’d make it one day.’ The coldness of his attitude frightened her; his face had become distorted with anger and hate. ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t have kept your promise and waited for me,’ he snarled, the bitter rage spilling out, and Megan flinched at the anger in his tone.

She felt her anger flare up inside her and she tried hard to control her temper. Her fists tightened into balls of rage as she glared back at him, unable to comprehend the injustice of his remark. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve been successful,’ she admitted, resenting the sacrifices she had made to make him a success.

‘Are you?’ he mocked, his expression challenging, but his voice was flat.

‘Of course I am,’ she said with forced brightness, as a sharp pain of regret fleetingly touched her deeply, and yet it was the truth. It made it all worthwhile. It justified her deceit, vanquished any last doubts she had had. All the lies, her struggles, the loneliness of her life now made sense, and yet a sting of bitterness cut into her as she remembered all the hardships she had faced alone just so he could fulfil his ambition.

He had always been ambitious; Rannaleigh had never seemed big enough to contain him. He had loved the idea of America—the size, the challenge, the thought of being a success in a big way through his writing. Megan had known that until he tried he would never be satisfied, so she had given him his freedom, expecting his return, but then she had lost him forever to someone else.

‘You don’t look it.’ Darrow noted, inclining his head closer to hers so he could get an even clearer view of her troubled expression.

‘I’m sorry, I was thinking of something else,’ Megan confessed, her mind coming back to the present with difficulty as the familiar smell of his aftershave filled her senses. His dark eyes fixed on her, studying her closely for a moment.

‘Thinking what a foolish mistake you made running off and marrying someone else instead of waiting for me?’ he jeered cruelly, seeming oblivious to the sorrow growing in her misty eyes.

Megan reached out and touched his arm. The smooth cloth of his expensive suit could not hide the hard ripple of tension that ran the length of his arm. ‘It wasn’t like that…’ she protested, shocked by the cruelty of his words.

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘Darrow, please…’ she began, suddenly wanting to explain, regardless of his reaction and despite the terrible repercussions it would cause in her own life.

He pulled back, his body as tense as an over-strung violin, and with a harsh expression that barely concealed how much he despised her. His face was set in sharp, rigid lines, grim and furious, and his eyes were as black and as bitter as over-stewed coffee.

Megan stepped back, fearful of the anger and hate that crackled beneath his thin veneer of control.

‘Darrow, please,’ he mocked back, imitating her voice roughly. ‘The truth hurts, does it?’ he sneered, allowing her to feel the weight of his full contempt.

‘Truth? Truth?’ she repeated, matching his anger with her own. ‘What would you know of truth?’ she flung back at him.

Megan pulled away from him and rushed out of the door, hot, salty tears splashing down her face at the injustice of it all. She knew she shouldn’t have come back.

CHAPTER TWO

MEGAN rubbed the back of her hand over her face in an attempt to erase the sorrow from her face. She couldn’t allow Luke to see her distress. He was far too astute and was bound to question her until she told him the whole story, and that she could never do. It would be a total betrayal of their lives together.

‘Who’s he?’ Luke snapped as she slid into the car beside him, shoving the papers from the receptionist on to his lap and starting the engine immediately.

‘Darrow Maine,’ Megan answered abruptly, a rasp burning the back of her throat as she struggled to keep her emotions under control. ‘An old friend,’ she added, hopeful that that piece of information would be all he required.

‘I see,’ he mumbled, too engrossed in the papers to notice the fearful glance his mother flicked to him as she caught the undercurrent in his tone. Megan felt herself forced to say more. It was inevitable that they would bump into Darrow and she wanted their meetings to be as uneventful as possible.

‘He owns the hotel and complex,’ she explained as she craned her neck to see the names that were painted on small posts along the roadside. She carefully steered the car into the space next to their lodge, flicking off the engine with a weary sigh.

‘Does he?’ Luke asked with interest as he opened the car door. ‘He must be loaded.’

‘Does everything nowadays have to be valued on monetary worth?’ Megan retorted, exasperated by her son’s apparent obsession with material wealth and desperately wondering if she had failed him in some way. They seemed slowly to be drifting apart, and Megan was determined to stop the slow deterioration of their relationship. She had struggled too hard for too long on her own to let it just fade away. It had been one long struggle bringing up a child alone, trying to make ends meet on the meagre amount she managed to earn. She pulled their luggage from the boot, offering him the cases which he accepted with a grin.

‘What other type of value is there?’ he asked, ducking as Megan took a friendly swoop at his head. ‘Come on we’d best unpack something, even if it’s only something for tonight.’ He laughed as Megan locked the car.

‘Tonight?’ Megan asked, a frisson of alarm racing down her spine as she caught the excitement in his tone.

‘Yes, had you not been so engrossed in conversation you would have seen the posters,’ he informed her as they entered their lodge. He dropped the luggage immediately, racing over to the patio doors and pulling them open with enthusiasm. ‘Hey, get a look at this view,’ he called, his eyes scanning over the flat mirror of water and the range of mountains that rose up as a backdrop.

‘What posters?’ Megan asked anxiously as she joined him on the patio, leaning on the wall and soaking in the beautiful scene that eased her troubled soul. She wrapped a protective arm over his shoulders and he leant against her.

Megan’s heart filled with emotion. This holiday was so important after the strain of this last year. It was a chance for them to be together again without the distractions of work, and Megan was determined that it would help to heal the rift that was growing between them. He needed to build up his confidence again as it had taken such a bad knock since his illness.

‘It’s all there.’ Luke jerked his head to the disarray of papers that he had dropped to the floor, scattering them everywhere. ‘Party-time starts at eight o’clock prompt, and I get the impression that Darrow Maine would not like to be kept waiting,’ he concluded, moving back into the large lounge with Megan following with a sinking heart.

‘You want to go, do you?’ she asked, forcing a brighter tone into her voice and suffocating her sense of desperation. She picked up the papers and pushed them back into a neat pile, her heart already thudding out a death-knell at his anticipated answer.

‘Dead right I do,’ he answered quickly. ‘They’re going to tell us what’s on offer and I want to know,’ he said, snatching up his own cases. ‘It’s about time I took up sport seriously again. I’m not even on the first team any more. Don’t you want to go?’ he asked, stopping to await her answer. A frown of disappointment was forming over his bright eyes.

‘Of course,’ she replied brightly, flashing him a smile and forcing her personal doubts from her mind. She couldn’t bear to disappoint Luke. They depended on one another so much, their relationship all the more intense because they had only ever had each other. Megan had had a couple of boyfriends, but no one could ever match Darrow or come between her and Luke. This was their holiday, a much deserved rest, and she knew how much he wanted to get back on the school’s first team, and no one, not even Darrow Maine, was going to spoil his chance of that.

Megan’s eyes quickly darted around the room. It was filled with a mixture of people, young and old, sporty types and the more sedate, but thankfully there was no trace of Darrow. She sank gratefully into a Victorian tub chair that had been carefully restored and reupholstered in a tartan fabric that matched the heavy curtains and swags decorating the expansive windows which gave a unique view of the rolling hills and the lake below. Luke had disappeared immediately after collecting her a glass of the delicate sparkling wine that was being offered to all guests.

‘I’ve just found a fantastic computer-room,’ he said, rushing back with a wicked grin, and Megan raised her eyebrows in despair. There was little chance of seeing him again for some time, she thought, taking a sip of her wine and nodding her approval as he disappeared again.

‘Can I tempt you?’ Darrow raised an oval platter of canapés towards Megan, taking her by surprise. Her heart thudded rapidly before settling back into a steady rhythm.

‘I’d love one,’ she agreed, suddenly feeling hungry and delighting in the selection she was being offered. ‘I had no idea you acted as waiter as well,’ she joked lightly, sensing that his gesture was meant as an attempt at goodwill.

‘I don’t normally, but I thought I would make an exception in your case.’ His voice was low and warm and she treasured the sound of it. Megan glanced up and his dark eyes held her.

‘Why?’

‘I’m sorry about before. It just came as a shock—you, married.’

‘I did write and tell you I was considering Karl’s proposal,’ she replied lightly. She had hoped for a different response but he had not even bothered to reply to her letter, which had only served to confirm her fears that he had found someone else.

‘And with a son,’ he continued, unaware of her words. His smile faded slightly and a cold chill swept over her, but she nodded, trying to simplify the hundreds of questions that churned over and over in her mind. She tilted back her chin, not wanting to give the impression that she cared.

‘You never married, then?’ she asked.

Her heart skipped a beat as she waited for his answer, preparing to hear for herself the confirmation that he had betrayed their love.

‘Never.’

It wasn’t the answer she had expected. It was like a sharp slap in the face and shock was quickly replaced by anger.

‘Not married!’ she exclaimed, more angry with herself than him. It was so unfair.

‘I nearly took the plunge,’ he said calmly, unaware of the searing, heated anger that tore through her body. All her noble sacrifices had been a waste, she thought. She was just the first, no doubt, in a long line of foolish women who had thought he was capable of commitment. She tried vainly to appear indifferent to this revelation but she was burning with curiosity and fury. She had been told by his mother, Janet, that he was having a serious relationship. She had told her clearly that marriage was round the corner, and Megan hadn’t had the confidence to question her. She’d felt so foolish. Megan recalled how she had feigned indifference to the news although her heart had been breaking. Had it all been lies? She had to know.

‘Cold feet?’ She tried to keep her voice light and joky, but she had been a victim of his sense of humour and her amusement was hollow. He shrugged.

‘In a way. I just realised it would have been a mistake, so I called it off.’

‘I see.’

Megan didn’t want to probe any deeper. For some reason the thought of him caring for someone else hurt her more deeply than she was prepared to admit, even to herself.

‘Your marriage was happy?’ he commented, his voice strained but cool, and Megan felt the familiar panic that rose in her chest whenever her marriage was mentioned. She kept her lids lowered over her startled eyes to prevent him from seeing the truth she knew would be shining there.

‘Yes, very,’ she told him, hoping, for some reason, that he would be hurt by her words. As she cast a covert glance at his face she saw a flicker of emotion there, but she knew it was pure fantasy to imagine it was jealousy.

‘It must have been very hard to lose someone you loved,’ he said, with such deep understanding that Megan felt a momentary guilt at her deceit.

‘It was,’ she admitted truthfully, but it was not Karl she was thinking of.

‘How did your son react?’ he asked, his voice strangely soft and soothing, and Megan glanced up, surprised by his interest.

‘He never knew his father,’ she said quickly, her eyes darting to his. It wasn’t a lie. She would do everything in her power to ensure that Luke never knew the truth. It would be far too painful for both of them. Megan had never told Luke that Karl was his father—it was one lie she had known she couldn’t live with—but she had not denied it either. Luke had grown up with the idea that his father was dead, and though Megan had longed to tell the truth she was afraid of the emotional damage it might cause.

‘He doesn’t look like you. Does he take after his father?’ he asked, picking up a tiny, delicate blini topped with smoked salmon. It was a casual enough question, but Megan cursed the emotion his query was stirring within her.

‘As he grows older, he looks more like his father,’ she confessed.

She wanted to tell him about his son, longed to tell him, but she knew she couldn’t. The web of lies she had carefully spun for Luke must remain intact. She would not allow her child to feel the pain of rejection she had been subjected to. He reached out, wrapping his strong, warm hand over hers, squeezing it gently.

‘I’m sorry. It must be hard for you.’

‘No, I’m just being silly,’ she said quickly, fully aware of the heat from his hand that was slowly permeating her body. She felt her heart race at his familiar touch and she stared at his hand, looking at the dark mat of hairs that criss-crossed his hand with intensity. She was so sensitive to him that it frightened her. For once, after so many years, she felt alive again, every nerve in her body tingling with anticipation.

‘My Meg, my poor Meg,’ he crooned softly, stroking his slender fingers across her gently trembling hand. Her response was a soft, almost soundless laugh as she withdrew her hand from his. She was afraid of the sharp tug of attraction he was arousing in her and the intimate use of their childhood name for her.

‘Poor!’ She laughed hollowly. ‘No, Darrow, my days of poverty are over.’

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, his expression hardening to granite.

‘You’re still poor Megan. You always will be till you learn true values.’ He bit out the words, his anger spilling out in the bitter blue-blackness of his eyes.

‘I know this, Darrow. It’s easy to appreciate the finer things in life when you don’t have to worry about the basics. I’ve struggled to achieve what I have now, and believe me there is no dignity in poverty. So don’t preach to me about being poor in spirit till you have experienced it for yourself,’ she threw back at him, hating his condescending attitude.

‘What a change. I never saw you as a material girl,’ he jeered, shocked by the change in her. ‘I thought it odd that you were unable to make it to your mother’s funeral. You’re obviously able to come now. No doubt it was the will that brought you back.’

Megan was about to protest her innocence, but her words died on her lips. She could not reveal the real reason why she had missed the funeral as just then Luke returned.

‘Hello, Luke. Did you win?’ she asked, realising immediately that she did not have his attention.

‘You do everything, don’t you?’ he asked Darrow with obvious enthusiasm. ‘I’ve been talking to Suzie.’ Megan saw the light of admiration glowing in her son’s eyes and sighed inwardly. The last thing she needed was a bad case of hero-worship; the situation was difficult enough as it was.

‘Whatever do you mean, Luke?’ She laughed as he drew up a chair between them and picked up three different canapés, ignoring Megan’s disapproving frown with customary ease. He popped two immediately in his mouth, nodding in approval and swallowing quickly in order to explain.

‘River-rafting, abseiling, canoeing, skiing.’ He paused to pick up another canapé and Megan gave his hand a sharp tap. Luke flashed Darrow a grin, and the easy bond that seemed to have sprung between them pierced Megan’s heart.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked, hardly waiting for Darrow to answer.

‘No not all. Help yourself.’

Luke’s grin broadened at his words; he was clearly delighting in the camaraderie.

‘I’d love to try everything. Do you instruct, Mr…?’

‘Darrow. Everyone calls me Darrow.’

‘Darrow,’ repeated Luke, enjoying the adult approach Darrow was taking with him. Megan twisted the stem of her wine glass, trying to remain indifferent to their close proximity and easy conversation. She watched them both with nervous expectation, a chill spiralling down her spine as she caught the close scrutiny Darrow was subjecting Luke to. His dark eyes were assessing Luke very closely indeed, and a tremor of apprehension vibrated through her body.

‘Luke, fetch me another glass of wine, would you?’ she asked. She had sounded abrupt and for a moment Luke looked confused, though he immediately responded by taking up her empty glass.

‘I guess you two want to talk alone,’ he said, making an exaggerated wink as he looked at Darrow, whose face broke out into a wide smile. Megan felt a warm flush of pink cover her cheeks and her eyes darted quickly from Luke to Darrow as a denial leapt swiftly to her lips.

‘No, not at all.’

For a few moments after Luke had left silence fell between them. Megan glanced up, a wave of nausea seeping over her as she watched Darrow’s eyes follow Luke’s disappearing body. At last he had noticed, seen a trace of himself in the boy, and the thought flooded her with a mixture of feelings—delight and despair.

‘I don’t think he’ll be able to do all the activities,’ he informed her crisply, turning his attention back to her, and Megan immediately tensed. Afraid to look at him, Megan stared down at the table, stroking her fingers restlessly over a drip-mat.

‘We are booked in for over a fortnight. Ample time, I would have thought…’ she began, her voice strangely breathless as she awaited his condemnation of her keeping his son to herself.

‘It wasn’t the time factor I was referring to.’

There was a note of challenge in his voice that drew her gaze back to his, and his expression showed a smooth, worldly wisdom.

‘Then what?’ demanded Megan, suddenly defensive, her nerves tensing at his poker-faced expression which warned her that more was to come.

‘He just doesn’t look well enough,’ he said matter-of-factly, but Megan sensed a criticism in his tone and her own feelings of insecurity immediately surfaced. She so desperately wanted him to be well. It was so very difficult being a one-parent family, trying hard to be both mother and father. She had tried to encourage him towards sporting activities but his enforced rest period had left him a little weaker than usual.

‘Looks can be deceptive,’ she retorted, angry with herself that he was evoking in her such a sense of over-protectiveness.

‘I’m not suggesting he doesn’t try some of the activities out, but—’

‘I think I’m the best judge of what my son is capable of,’ Megan cut in, furious by his lack of natural response to his own son, angered that he could not see himself mirrored in Luke’s frame, waiting to grow into a strong, capable man.

‘Oh, God, you’re not one of those pushy mothers who insist on over-compensating for the lack of a father?’ He grinned, unaware of the depth of pain he was causing her or how near the truth he might have touched.

‘It’s not a case of that. I just think you’re making an incorrect judgement merely because of his looks,’ she countered. The tone of conversation was swiftly changing to one of confrontation but she felt as if she was on a roller-coaster, thundering down a track, out of control.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why on earth should I do that?’ he demanded, and Megan instantly tensed as his dark eyes narrowed on her. Megan felt her face redden as she realised that it was her own sensitivity to the situation that was causing the problem. She was reading far too much into his words.

‘Look, I’m sure that Luke will be sensible enough to make his own choices,’ she said briefly, hoping to draw a close over that line of conversation. She didn’t want to talk about Luke; it was far too dangerous.

Darrow leant across the table, pushing to one side the half-empty platter of food in a gesture of annoyance. He flexed his shoulders as he drew closer and Megan again caught the teasing scent of his masculine aftershave.

‘How old is he?’ he snapped, staring across the table at her, his expression devoid of emotion.

Megan didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. She felt trapped, as if he had carefully laid the bait and like a fool she had fallen for it. She could hear her heart thudding painfully against her constricting chest and she dropped her gaze, unable to confront the steel in his eyes.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said airily, unaware of the huge sigh of relief that silently escaped Megan’s lips. ‘The fact remains that he has a dull complexion and his eyes look heavy-lidded. He looks unwell…’

Megan’s eyes flew to his, anger flaring in the cool green.

‘That’s not a criticism, Megan, merely an observation,’ he countered immediately, seeing her reaction but refusing to acknowledge it fully. He still wanted to make his point, regardless of how she felt about it. ‘I was scrawny myself at that age, but he looks tired and drawn,’ he admitted, which only served to twist the knife deeper into her unhealed heart. ‘To take on all the activities available would be asking for trouble. One needs to build up stamina over a period of time.’

‘I see,’ Megan replied, too quickly, though she did agree. She could see that what he was saying made sense but she knew Luke’s stubborn determination—a characteristic from his father, she mused. She was not prepared to ruin her chances of strengthening their relationship by refusing to allow him to do exactly what he wanted. It still hurt more deeply than she wanted to admit that she felt Luke was outgrowing her. Besides, she reassured herself, Luke was stronger than he appeared. Even the doctors had agreed with that, amazed at his quick recovery.

‘Do you?’ His voice was cold, cutting into her with icy precision. ‘I doubt that. You’re fit and healthy, busy running a health club, a sick child would hardly be an ideal advertisement.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ Megan shot back.

‘I think you’ve been either too busy to notice or deliberately blind to the fact…’ he began to explain, his voice cold and detached.

‘How dare you?’ stormed Megan, her surprise matched only by her anger at his unfair remarks.

‘I dare for this reason, Megan. I have a one hundred percent accident-free record here and I plan on keeping it that way,’ he snarled, gripping her wrist in a painful clasp. ‘I can’t afford parents who refuse to see their own offspring’s limitations, pushing them beyond their capabilities. It’s dangerous and unforgivable.’

A wave of righteous indignation swept through Megan’s body, heating her blood to boiling point. How dared he make assumptions about her and her relationship with Luke? He had no right, no right at all, she fumed inwardly, and yet knowing he did have some right only annoyed her even more.

‘If you’re suggesting that I’m pushing him you couldn’t be more wrong. Luke wants to take part—he’s very keen.’

‘Is he? He looks worn out to me. An activity holiday is the last thing he needs. Rest and relaxation would do him more good. For God’s sake, Megan, can’t you see it?’ he protested, fixing his eyes on her like a pair a darts.

‘Luke’s OK. He has a slim build but he’s strong,’ Megan countered, resenting his interference.

‘You’re blinkered, Megan. You refuse to see your son as he is,’ he growled at her, furious at her obstinacy.

‘I don’t think you know Luke well enough to make any comment,’ Megan told him in a glacier tone, the look on her face matching her icy voice.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Megan,’ he said dismissively, ignoring the expression on her face. ‘Your ambition is blinding you. I’m sorry, but he’s not going to live up to some bizarre ideal you have of him—he just hasn’t your physical strength,’ he told her firmly.

‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ she retorted briskly, confident that Luke would show just how capable he was.

‘There’s no way I’m allowing him to over-stretch himself for your benefit. It could be extremely dangerous,’ he told her, his tone brooking no argument and his jaw set firmly.

‘Well, we wouldn’t want anything upsetting your precious record, would we?’ she goaded him, pain and frustration twisting her stomach. She paid no heed to the darkening of his eyes or the glitter of anger that flickered there. Like a wounded animal she just wanted to hit out, to hurt him as he was hurting her.

‘You know damn well it’s not a case of that…’ he ground out, but his words faded as a shadow fell across the table. His anger evaporated immediately, to be replaced by a brilliant smile.

‘Thanks, Luke,’ he said, taking the glass and placing it in front of Megan, who was carefully avoiding his eyes. ‘I think I’d best mix with some other guests,’ Darrow went on, pushing himself away from the table and pausing for a moment, till Megan was forced to look up and confront his grim expression.

A frown marred Megan’s usual smooth brow. She was annoyed at how smoothly he had managed to change his fade and direct his anger only at her.

‘I’ll see you later.’ He smiled at both of them, but Megan could see another message clearly in his eyes, that warned her that he was determined to finish their talk.

‘We’ll be leaving shortly. We are both tired with the travelling,’ Megan offered as an explanation, determined to go back to the safety of her cosy lodge.

His grin widened, showing a flash of white predatory teeth that made Megan inwardly wince.

‘We have a dinner-date, don’t we?’

‘Come on, Mum,’ agreed Luke. ‘It’s our first night. Besides, me and this lad from Manchester are in contest on one of the games and I can’t let him think I’ve run away from the challenge. Can I?’ His eyes danced with devilment and he struggled to control the teasing smile that tugged at his lips. He was obviously aware of the tension between his mother and Darrow and was delighting in it.

‘Later, then. You did agree to dinner, didn’t you?’ Darrow smiled. The threat of confrontation was only noticeable to Megan, and she forced herself to nod in agreement while mentally she had already decided she would leave at once.

She watched him move with ease, carefully gliding from group to group with a naturalness that she envied. She had never recovered from her mother’s criticism—even now it took all her will-power to combat her inner feelings of insecurity and present a confident fade. She was determined that her son would never feel the sense of worthlessness she had had to suffer. He was about to face up to adolescence—never an easy time—and to find out now that Darrow was his real father would have terrible repercussions.

The die was cast. The secret she had kept so long must remain deep within her heart. She had to protect her only son from anything that might make him feel rejected or unloved. Megan knew just how painful that could be.

Her mind drifted back to her unhappy childhood and the most memorable of the many arguments she had had with her mother.

‘He doesn’t care for you,’ her mother had informed her briskly as she sorted through a stack of papers, not even bothering to look at her distressed daughter. ‘He just feels sorry for you. It’s a pity, that’s all,’ she had continued, casting a brief look of disgust at her daughter’s pale, sad face.

‘He does care,’ Megan had replied, her voice barely audible and lacking conviction.

‘Don’t be so pathetic,’ she had scoffed, tossing the papers to one side and standing up in front of her daughter, ready for battle.

‘I’m not—’

‘Of course you are. It’s no good looking at me like that; you know I’m right,’ her mother had said confidently, charging on, careless of her daughter’s feelings. ‘I don’t know why you’re so dependent on him. Stand on your own two feet. I had to. I fought all the way on my own and so should you.’

‘I’m not going to be on my own. Darrow will come back,’ Megan had protested, her conviction fading against her mother’s onslaught.

‘Grow up, Megan. Out of sight, out of mind.’ She had lifted Megan’s hair between her fingers in despair. ‘A little dowdy thing like you can hardly compete against those American beauties he’ll be meeting.’

‘He’ll be back,’ Megan had cried in utter frustration.

‘Well, don’t hold your breath. Your father never made an appearance, did he?’ she had tossed at her as she marched away, and Megan had known, as usual, that she was a disappointment to her mother, that she could never be as strong as her. And surprisingly that still hurt.

CHAPTER THREE

MEGAN quickly finished her drink and began her search for Luke. She ignored all his protests, insisting that they should leave immediately. They had both reached the door before Darrow’s voice resounded in the empty hall.

‘I think it’s a little too cold to eat al fresco,’ his velvet voice taunted, and Megan swung round, uncharmed by the amused grin on his face. She exhaled slowly before glancing up and giving him a half-hearted smile. She ran her fingers through her hair, unconsciously curling its already natural wave. His grin widened still further as he recognised the familiar gesture of nervousness.

‘We’re tired. It’s been a long day.’ Her cheeks turned pink as she spoke, but her voice was firm despite the white lie.

‘Who’s this “we”?’ objected Luke instantly, flashing her a look of discontent. ‘I was on a roll, in Dracula’s castle,’ he complained, ignoring the grim expression on Megan’s face as she glared at him.

‘That’s settled, then,’ agreed Darrow, beaming a smile at Luke for his help in what Megan was convinced was a conspiracy against her. ‘Try typing in PQRS, then go through the second door and…’

Megan was totally confounded by the code but knew it was something to do with the computer game. Her heart shrivelled a little inside her. She had tried numerous times to get to grips with the new game technology but had always failed miserably, and she knew it was an important part of Luke’s life that she was unable to share. She felt excluded. A cold sense of loss swept over her; she had never had to share Luke before and it hurt.

‘And?’ demanded Luke, unable to bear waiting.

‘One hundred extra lives. And if you can’t get to level five now you never will,’ laughed Darrow, rubbing Luke’s head in a natural gesture of affection, and Megan was stunned when instead of shying away Luke stretched up his neck, like a cat wanting further strokes.

‘PQRS,’ repeated Luke.

‘You got it.’ Darrow smiled as Luke ran off without so much as saying goodbye to Megan.

She tried to pretend she didn’t care but she did, very much. The relationship between her and Luke was very intense—she had showered him with all her love from the moment he had been handed to her. That moment was branded on her mind.

‘Well done, he’s a lovely little boy,’ the nurse had gushed as he’d placed the tiny bundle of life into her open, eager arms.

‘My son,’ Megan had whispered in his ear as she’d held him close to her breast. She had inhaled the warm, sweet smell of him, forgetting all her feelings of fatigue. She was now fully awake, alert to every little nuance of her son. ‘Thank you,’ she had breathed, clasping her child even tighter, mentally swearing that no one would ever come between them.

A shiver of apprehension ran the length of her spine when she thought of the consequences that could develop if Luke ever knew the truth. Darrow turned to face Megan, arching his arm so that she could link hers into his, but Megan was not taken in by the easy charm that had fooled her all those years ago. Her eyes flicked to his arm but she hesitated, still unsure of the strength of her resolve.

‘Come on, Meggie,’ he cajoled, his eyebrows arched in a challenging look which he knew she would be unable to resist.

‘Lead the way.’ She nodded bravely, knowing full well she was walking straight into the jaws of hell.

‘Relax,’ laughed Darrow, drawing out her chair and noting the strained expression on her face. ‘It’s not such an ordeal, is it?’ he questioned lightly, but there was a definite undercurrent to his tone that Megan alone was sensitive to. She looked at him cautiously, her heart skipping a beat as she caught the stray scent of him.

‘Yes, it is,’ she confessed, then, noting the mocking rise of his eyebrows in horror, she hurriedly explained, ‘No, no—it’s not you,’ she began, ‘it’s the whole thing…’ Her voice faded away as her embarrassment grew still further. Her cheeks took on a rosy glow as he stared at her, willing her to continue, and enjoying her discomfort.

‘The whole thing?’ he prompted.

‘Going out to dinner. It’s like…’

‘A dinner-date,’ Darrow offered with a teasing lilt to his voice, and he picked up his white linen napkin and flicked it open. His action drew Megan’s eyes and she looked at his long, slender fingers, perfectly manicured, and for a fleeting moment she longed to reach out and touch them, to have her hand locked in his as it would have been all those years ago, she thought painfully.

‘A date.’ She repeated the words softly, struggling to fight an inner desire to allow herself to remember their first date. She felt that nervous again, and wondered how he felt. ‘It’s been so long since I’ve had a date,’ she admitted ruefully, with a half-hearted smile.

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