"You believed I wanted you for your money?" Tom asked again. Mollie said nothing, which was answer enough. Stunned, not because her family had lied to her about him, but that she’d believed them, Tom let his hand fall to his side. "Why would I need your money? I had a contract for three books, film options — "
"Please! Don’t treat me like a fool all over again, Tom. It had taken you five years to get published, five years of living hand-to-mouth, doing anything you could to pay the bills — " It took a will of iron to survive, to keep going through the rejections, hold on to the self-belief.
Mollie hadn’t had to starve in a shack, but once she’d refused to go along with her father’s plans to put her life back together, it had been hard enough. She broke off as the phone beside the bed began to ring. She turned away from him, picked it up, rapped out her name.
Dear lord! She had so nearly told him that she understood. That she knew how hard it was, that she didn’t blame him. Of course she blamed him. Not for taking advantage of a stupid, naïve young girl who’d allowed herself to believe the fairy tale. She blamed him for not caring whether he’d had a son, or a daughter.
Even now he hadn’t asked about their child. It was as if he’d forgotten that she’d ever been pregnant. She glanced at him and frowned. Did he think she’d swept the whole thing under the carpet? Had their son adopted? Was he waiting for her to say something first?
"Mollie, dear?" Her caller prompted.
"What?" she asked, distractedly. Then, "Oh, sorry — "
"Are you all right? You sound tense."
Angie Blake knew her too well. Mollie forced herself to smile before she answered.
Tom picked up his bag. It was empty. They hadn’t just been moved, they’d been treated to a full valet service. Great. He really needed to hear her getting cozy with the owner of the Porsche as they cootchie-cooed goodnight. He pulled open a drawer, started to fling his clothes in the bag as she sank to the edge of the bed, kicked off her shoes, her mouth softening into a smile.
"No, I’m fine, really. How are things at home?"
Home? They lived together? His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He felt...jealous. Hurt. Angry. That should have been him, at home taking care of their kids, while she did her great novelist thing...

Chapter Five: Part Two


He dragged his thoughts back from the precipice. Tried to imagine how it had been for her. They’d lied to her about him, those pillars of the community, Sir Charles and Lady Harrington.
He didn’t fit the image they had of a suitable husband for their daughter, so they’d isolated her, lied to her, alternating between coaxing and bullying to get her to agree to an abortion, ending the precious life they’d made together. She must have felt so alone and frightened.
If only she’d had faith in him, believed in him, trusted him, held on. He’d loved her so much, would have died for her — had died, inside, where it really counted.
He stopped stuffing his clothes into his bag. If only he’d understood at the time just how ruthless they could be.
"Don’t fuss!" She was laughing now as this man worried about her, fussed over her. He wouldn’t have believed it was possible how much that hurt. She was still his wife. She’d held out against divorce at least...
He stared at her frowning. Why? What had been the point?
That was it! There was something wrong about this whole set-up and he was going nowhere until he’d got to the bottom of it. He crossed the room and plucked the receiver from her fingers, just as she was telling her lover about the idiot who had rear-ended her car.
"I’m not some idiot," he said, into the mouthpiece. "I’m Mollie’s husband — "
"Tom!" she protested.
"And we have a great deal to talk about." Then he cut off the call.
"Tom! You can’t do that!"
"Mollie," he said, very quietly. "I just did."
"But — "
"But?" He waited but there was no further reproof. Only her breast rising and falling too quickly, the heat building in her eyes until the silver was molten with desire, the telltale flush that heated her cheeks, betraying her deepest need. He recognized it instantly — because it was his deepest need too...
The years melted away as he touched her face, his fingers cool against her cheeks and Mollie whimpered softly, unable to catch the telltale sound. But then she’d always known how it would be. That there could be never be anyone else for her...

Chapter Five: Part Three


He brushed back a loose tendril of hair, tucked it behind her ear, long fingers sliding through her hair as he cradled her head. So gentle. She’d loved his gentleness. Loved him.
"’Til death us do part," she murmured. Nothing had changed.
"Mollie..."
His voice brushed velvet against her skin. His eyes were liquid dark with a desire that he couldn’t hide. No other man had ever looked at her like that, making her feel worshipped and deliciously wicked, all at the same time.
Whatever else he’d wanted, she didn’t doubt that at that moment he desired her as deeply as she yearned for him. Maybe they could turn the clock back, put right the mistakes they’d both made. All it took was courage. And putting her heart on the line, she stepped into his arms and kissed him, boldly, her arms curling around his neck, offering him a second chance.
Mollie’s mouth was warm, her tongue silky sweet, intoxicating, her body pressed against the length of his. It required Tom’s total concentration to hold back, let her set the pace, take control of where this was going.
When her mouth trailed moist kisses from his mouth to his throat, her fingers loosening the buttons on his shirt, he was pleased to play follow-the-leader. When her tongue teased at the hollows in his shoulder, her teeth nipped at his skin, he was just half a step behind.
But concentration was tougher with every passing moment. He was learning fast that following rather than leading, letting her decide what happened next, teasing him as he tried to anticipate her next move, was blowing his mind. The thought that had snagged at his memory in the moments before she’d kissed him was completely forgotten in the heat of their passion.
If this was getting in touch with his feminine side, he was a convert.
"Tom..." she whispered, her voice no more than a caress...
She said his name as he’d once said hers and his last coherent thought was that the past didn’t matter...

Tom woke feeling different, strange, and for a moment couldn’t think why. Then Mollie’s head shifted against his shoulder and he knew. This strange, almost forgotten feeling was happiness.
For a while he watched her, sleeping within the circle of his arm. It was a perfect moment. Asleep she was totally his. Once they were awake he’d have to contend with the real world and the owner of the Porsche.
Mollie woke with a slow, blissful drift into consciousness from a state of pure happiness. There hadn’t been many moments like it in her life. The few precious weeks when she’d first met Tom. The first time she’d held Harry. This moment. Maybe. She opened her eyes and saw that Tom was already awake, looking at her with an expression of such tenderness that she caught at her breath.
"I thought I must be dreaming."
"Better pinch yourself to be sure," he suggested, the tenderness transposing itself into the wickedest of grins. "Or maybe I can help." His hand stroked softly over her hip, her thigh, as if seeking a suitable place for his demonstration, but since he was also kissing her it took a tap at the door to convince her that she was awake.
"Ignore it," he said. "It’s just tea and the paper."
"Tea? Dear lord, what time is it?"
"Relax, sweetheart." He resumed the tender trawling of her neck with his lips, but she grabbed his wrist so that she could see his watch.
"Oh, heck. Let me up, Tom. Please. I’ve got a workshop in half an hour." He surrendered to the inevitable and rolled over onto his back to watch her as she grabbed her robe and tied it around her waist.
Mollie tried to marshal thoughts that seemed determined on doing their own thing. With Tom. She had to stop looking at Tom, thinking about last night...the rest of her life. She had to phone home, she reminded herself forcefully. Right now. Harry would be hopping around, driving Angie mad waiting for her call. She headed for the phone. Then she’d grab a quick shower — with Tom? No! She’d read her workshop notes over a cup of tea, there was no time for breakfast...
She suddenly thought of something else on her to-do list.
"Oh, heck," she said again and Tom’s brows rose in query. "I’ve got to call Jerry."
Tom’s brows snapped together. "Jerry?" he repeated. "I thought his name was Harry."

Chapter Six: Part Two


Mollie, her hand poised above the phone, stilled, went cold.
Tom knew about Harry.
All through a long and blissful night spent in passionate rediscovery of each other, their need had been to touch, to hold each other. They had all the time in the world for the whys and the hows, at least that was how it had seemed to her.
But Tom didn’t need the whys, or the hows. He hadn’t said a word to her, asked about their son. Yet he’d known about Harry all along.
And in that split second she knew what Tom had done. In her mind she saw again the check that her father had laid in front of her with the cashier’s stamp on it, proof of her brand-new husband’s betrayal.
He was doing it again. The ridiculous story about attending the workshop to brush up on his technique. This was Tom Garrick, for heaven’s sake...
Then there was the cliché of the collision in the car park, the pretence that he didn’t know who she was.
The publishing world was small. He’d probably found out who she was purely by chance. Dug around a little. Then remembered that there was a second seam to the gold mine.
Charles Harrington had paid up without a murmur to get his pathetic daughter back. How much more would he give to keep control of his grandson?
Tom had been so clever. She hadn’t suspected a thing, not even when he’d switched the rooms. The phone rang once, twice, three times before she could force herself to move, lift the receiver.
"Mollie Blake," she said. She was cold. So cold that if someone just tapped her she would shatter...
"Mollie, thank heavens. Now, lovie, you’re not to worry..." She heard Angie’s voice, but nothing registered until "worry."
"What’s happened?"
"Harry’s had a tumble on the stairs. You know how excited he gets and the phone rang and he thought it was you. We’re at the hospital and the doctor’s with him now — "
Mollie’s mind was suddenly crystal clear. "Which hospital? I’ll be right there."
She grabbed the first clothes that came to hand and, shedding the robe, began to dress.