Escape By The Sea. Trish Morey

you can’t live on a plane. Everyone has a home. You must have family somewhere.’ She frowned, thinking about his voice and the lack of any discernable accent. Clearly he had Mediterranean roots but his voice gave nothing away. ‘Where do you come from?’

      Something bleak skated across his eyes as he looked at his watch. ‘You’re obviously tired and I’m keeping you both. Have a good sleep.’

      He turned to leave then, turned back, reaching into his pocket. ‘Oh, you’d better have this back.’ He set the tiny box on the bedside table. Eve blinked at it, already knowing what it held.

      ‘They extended the loan?’

      He gave a wry smile. ‘Not exactly. But it’s yours to keep afterwards.’

      ‘You bought it?’

      ‘It looks good on you. It matches your eyes.’

      She looked from the box to the man, still stroking her son’s back, aware of his soft breathing as he settled into a more comfortable sleep. Thank heavens for the reality of Sam or she could easily think she was dreaming. ‘What is this?’ she said, mistrustful, the smouldering sparks of their earlier confrontation glowing brightly, fanned by this latest development. ‘Some kind of bribe so I behave properly all weekend?’

      ‘Do I need it to be?’

      ‘No. I’m here, aren’t I? And so I’m hardly likely to make a scene and reveal myself as some kind of fraud. But I’m certainly not doing it for your benefit, just like I’m not doing it for any financial gain. I just don’t want to let Maureen down. She’s had enough people do that recently, without me adding to their number.’

      ‘Suit yourself,’ he said, his voice sounding desolate and empty. ‘But if you change your mind, feel free to consider it your parting trinket. And just like you said, you won’t even need to post it to yourself. So efficient.’

      And then he was gone, leaving only the sting of his parting words in his wake. She kicked off her shoes and crawled into the welcoming bed, sliding her arm under Sam’s head and pulling him in close. She kissed his head, drinking deeply of his scent and his warm breath in an attempt to blot out the woody spice of another’s signature tones.

      She was so confused, so tired. Sleep, she told herself, knowing that after a late night of sexual excesses followed by today’s tension, what she really needed was to sleep. But something tugged at her consciousness and refused to let go as his words whirled and eddied in her mind, keeping her from the sleep she craved so much as she tried to make sense of what Leo had said.

      A heart of stone she’d accused him of, and when she’d apologised, he’d told her she was probably right. She shivered just thinking how forlorn he’d looked. How lost.

      A man with a stone for a heart. A man with no home.

      A man with everything and yet with nothing.

      And a picture flashed in her mind—the photographic print she’d seen in Leo’s suite before dinner last night.

      She’d been looking for a distraction at the time, looking for something to pretend interest in if only so she didn’t have to look at him, so her eyes would not betray how strongly she was drawn to him. Only she hadn’t had to feign interest when she’d seen it, a picture from the 1950s, a picture of a riverbank and a curving row of trees and a park bench set between.

      Something about the arrangement or the atmosphere of that black and white photograph had jagged in her memory at the time, just as it struck a chord now. It was the old man sitting all alone on that park bench, hunched and self-contained, and sitting all alone, staring out over the river.

       A lonely man.

       A man with no family and nowhere to call home.

       A man with nothing.

      And it struck her then. Twenty or thirty years from now, that man could very well be Leo.

      It was just a hiccup, Leo told himself as he considered the task ahead, just a slight hitch in his plans. Only a weekend, three nights at most, and the deal would be wrapped up once and for all. After all, Culshaw knew that even though they all called the shots in their respective businesses, none of them could just drop everything and disappear off the face of the earth—not for too long anyway. Neither could he risk them walking away. It had to be tied up this weekend.

      He sighed as he packed up his laptop. He’d got precious little done, not that he’d expected to, with a child running riot. Only this one he’d barely seen and still he’d got nothing done.

      Maybe because he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

      What was it about the woman that needled him so much? She was so passionate and wild in bed, like a tigress waiting to be unleashed, waiting for him to let her off the chain. Wasn’t that enough? Why couldn’t she just leave it at that? Why did she have to needle him and needle him and lever lids off things that had been welded shut for a reason? All her pointless questions.

      All working away under his skin. And why did she even care?

      Two days. Three nights. So maybe extending his time in her presence wasn’t his preferred option, but he could survive being around Evelyn that long, surely. After all, he’d had mistresses who’d lasted a month or two before he’d lost interest or moved cities. Seriously, what could possibly happen in just a weekend?

      Hopefully more great sex. A sound sleep would do wonders to improve her mood, and a tropical island sunset would soon have her feeling romantic and back in his arms. Nothing surer.

      And in a few short days he’d have the deal tied up and Evelyn and child safely delivered home again.

      Easy.

      ‘Mr Zamos,’ the cabin attendant said, refreshing his water, ‘the captain said to tell you we’ll be landing in half an hour. Would you like me to let Ms Carmichael know?’

      He looked at his watch, rubbed his brow, calculating how long she’d slept. If his theory was right, her mood should be very much improved already. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but I’ll do it.’

      There was no answer to his soft knock, so he turned the handle, cracked open the door. ‘Evelyn?’

      Light slanted into the darkened room and as his eyes adjusted he could make her out in the bed, her caramel hair tumbling over the pillow, her face turned away, her arm protectively resting over her child’s belly.

       Mother and child.

      And he felt such a surge of feeling inside him, such a tangle of twisted emotions, that for a moment the noise of that blast blotted everything else out, and there was nothing else for it but to close his eyes and endure the rush of pain and disgust and anger as it ripped through him.

      And when he could breathe again, he opened his eyes to see another pair of dark eyes blinking up at him from the bed. Across the sleeping woman, the pair considered each other, Leo totally ill equipped to deal with the situation. In the end it was Sam who took the initiative. He pulled his teddy from his arms and offered him to Leo. ‘Bear.’

      He looked blankly at the child and immediately Sam rolled over, taking his toy with him, then promptly rolled back and held his bear out to Leo again. ‘Bear.’

      And Leo felt—he didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t know what was expected of him. He was still reeling from the explosion of emotions that had rocked through him to know how to react to this.

      ‘Bear!’

      ‘Mmm, what’s that, Sam?’ Eve said drowsily, and she looked around and saw Leo. ‘Oh.’ She pushed herself up, ran a hand over her hair. ‘Have I overslept?’

      Her cheek was red where it had lain against the pillow, her hair was mussed and there was a smudge of mascara under one eye, but yet none of that detracted from her fundamental beauty. And he felt an insane surge of masculine pride that he was the