Escape By The Sea. Trish Morey

met a thousand women in a thousand different cities, all of them beautiful, plenty of whom he’d no doubt slept with.

      And since then she’d let her coloured hair settle back closer to its natural mousy colour and her body had changed with her pregnancy. Now she had curves that hadn’t been there before and maybe wouldn’t be there if she’d returned to work in that highly groomed, highly competitive office environment. One of the perils of working from home, she mused, was not having to keep up appearances.

      Which also meant she had one hell of an afternoon in front of her if she was to be ready before seven. A glance at the wall clock told her she had less than eight hours to find a salon to squeeze into on the busiest day of the week, and find an outfit somewhere. Still assuming her neighbour could babysit tonight.

      A thud came from the nursery, followed by a squeal and gurgles of pleasure, and she swung her head around. Sam was awake and busy liberating his soft toys from the confines of the cot. That meant she had about thirty seconds before he was the last man left standing and demanding to be released from jail the way he knew best. The loud way.

      ‘There’s a couple of things I have to square away,’ she said, anxious to get off the phone before Sam decided to howl the place down. ‘Can I call you back in a few minutes to confirm?’

      ‘Of course,’ he said, in that velvet-rich voice that felt like it was stroking her. ‘Call me. So long as it’s a yes.’

      Leo slipped his phone into his pocket as the car came to a smooth halt outside his hotel. A doorman touched his gloved fingers to his hat as he pulled open the door, bowing his welcome. ‘We’ve been expecting you, Mr Zamos.’ He handed him a slim pink envelope that bore his name and a room number on the front. ‘Your suite is ready if you’d like to go straight up.’

      ‘Excellent,’ he said, nodding his thanks as he strode into the hotel entry and headed for the lifts, feeling more and more confident by the minute. He’d known Evelyn would soon have that little problem sorted, although maybe he hadn’t exactly anticipated her sorting it so quickly and efficiently.

      What was she like? he wondered as the lift whisked him soundlessly skywards. Was he wrong not to insist on a photo of her to be safe? Originally he’d had looks on his list of requirements, on the basis that if he had to act as someone’s fiancé, he’d expected it would be one hell of a lot easier to be act the part if he didn’t have to force himself to smile whenever he looked at her or slipped his arm around her shoulders. But maybe someone more ordinary would be more convincing. Culshaw didn’t strike him as the sort of man who went for looks over substance and, given his circumstances, he’d be looking for a love match in the people he did business with. In which case, some nice plain girl might just fit the bill.

      It was only for one night, after all.

      The lift doors whooshed open on the twenty-fourth floor onto a window with a view over the outer city that stretched to the sea and air faintly scented with ginger flower.

      Other than to get his bearings, he paid scant attention to the view. It was success Leo Zamos could smell first and foremost, success that set his blood to fizzing as he headed for his suite.

      God, but he loved it when a plan came together!

       CHAPTER THREE

      EVE had some idea of how Cinderella must have felt on her way to the ball. Half an hour ago she’d left her old world behind, all tumbling-down house and broken-down appliances and baby rusks, and was now being whisked off in a silken gown to a world she had only ever dreamt of.

      Had Cinderella been similarly terrified on her way to the ball? Had she felt this tangle of nerves writhing in her stomach as she’d neared the palace on that fairytale night? Had she felt this cold, hard fear that things would come terribly, terribly unstuck before the night was over? If so, she could well empathise.

      Not that her story was any kind of fairy-tale. There’d been no fairy godmother who could transform her into some kind of princess in an instant with a touch of her magic wand for a start. Instead, Eve had spent the afternoon in a blur of preparations, almost spinning from salon to boutiques to appliance stores, in between packing up tiny pots of yoghurt and Sam’s favourite pasta so Mrs Willis wouldn’t have to worry about finding him something to eat. There had been no time for reflection, no time to sit down and really think about what she was doing or why she was even doing it.

      But here, sitting alone against the buttery-soft upholstery of an entire limousine, she had no distractions, no escape from asking herself the questions that demanded to be answered. Why was she doing this? Why had she agreed to be Leo’s pretend fiancée, when all her instincts told her it was wrong? Why hadn’t she insisted on saying no?

      Sure, there was the money. She wouldn’t call herself mercenary exactly, but she was motivated at the thought of getting enough money together to handle both her renovations and taking care of Sam. And how else would she so quickly gather the funds to replace a hot water service that had inconsiderately died twelve months too early and buy a new clothesdryer so she could keep up with Sam’s washing in the face of Melbourne’s fickle weather?

      What other reason could there be?

       Because you’re curious.

      Ridiculous. She thrust the suggestion aside, determined to focus on the view. She loved Melbourne. After so many years in Sydney, it was good to be home, not that she got into the city too often these days.

      But the annoying, niggling voice in her head refused to be captivated or silenced by the view.

       You want to see if he has the same impact on you that he had three years ago.

       You want to know if it’s not just his voice that makes your stomach curl.

       You want to know if he’ll once again look at you with eyes filled with dark desire and simmering need.

      No, no and no! She shuffled restlessly against the leather, adjusting her seat belt so it wasn’t so tight across her chest and she could breathe easier.

      Dark desire and simmering need were the last things she needed these days. She had responsibilities now. A child to provide for. Which was exactly what she was doing by coming tonight, she acknowledged, latching onto the concept with zeal. She was providing for her child. After all, if she didn’t, who would? Not his father, that was for sure.

      She bit down on her lip, remembering only then that she was wearing lipstick for a change and that she shouldn’t do that. It had been harder than she’d imagined, leaving Sam for an evening—the first time she’d ever left him at night—and it had been such a wrench she’d been almost tempted to call Leo and tell him she’d changed her mind.

      But she hadn’t. And Sam had splashed happily in an early bath and enjoyed dinner. She’d read him a story and he’d already been nodding off when she’d left him with Mrs Willis, his little fist clenched, his thumb firmly wedged between cupid bow lips. But what if he woke up and she wasn’t there? What if he wouldn’t settle back down for Mrs Willis?

      God, what the hell had she been thinking, agreeing to this?

      Outside the limousine windows the city of Melbourne was lighting up. It wasn’t long after seven, the sky caught in that time between day and night, washed with soft shadows that told of the coming darkness, and buildings were preparing, showing their colours, strutting their stuff.

      Just like she was, she thought. She wore a gown of aqua silk, which had cost her the equivalent of a month’s salary in her old office job, but she figured the evening called for something more grand than her usual chain-store purchases. Leo would no doubt expect it, she figured. And she’d loved the dress as she’d slipped it over her head and zipped it up, loved the look of it over her post-baby curves and the feel of it against her skin, and loved what it did to accentuate the colour of her eyes, but the clincher had been when her eighteen-month-old