By Request Collection April-June 2016. Оливия Гейтс

bedroom, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the glass windows. Leo had left the blinds open. She liked that; liked the way the shadows of the palms swayed on the breeze; liked the way the room glowed silver.

      ‘Come to bed,’ came the velvet-clad invitation.

      And that was the part she liked best of all.

      She was screaming again, crying out in pain as the blows rained down, as the bad words continued. ‘Stomato to!’ he cried from his bed. ‘Stop it!’ But it didn’t stop, and in fear and desperation he crept to the door, tears streaming down his face, afraid to move, afraid not to move, afraid of what he would find when he opened the door. So he did nothing, just curled up into a ball behind the door and covered his ears and prayed for it to stop.

      ‘Leo, it’s okay.’

      He sat bolt upright in bed, panting, desperate for air, burning up. He put his hands to his head, bent over his knees.

      ‘You had a nightmare again.’

      God, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was his life. He swept the sheet aside, stormed from the bed, pacing the floor, circuit after circuit.

      Twenty years ago he had escaped. Twenty years ago he had made his own way. But he had always known it was there, always known it was lurking. Waiting.

      But it had never been this close. This real.

      He felt cool hands on his back. ‘What is it?’

      He flinched, jumping away. ‘Don’t touch me! You shouldn’t touch me!’

      ‘Leo?’

      ‘I have to go for a walk.’ He pulled open a drawer, pulled out a pair of cotton pants and shoved his legs into them.

      ‘It’s two o’clock in the morning.’

      ‘Let me go!’

      The night air fanned around him, warming against his burning skin, the shallows sucking at his feet. There was a reason he didn’t get close to anyone. Good reason. He was broken. Twisted. Made to be alone.

      Couldn’t she see that?

      And yet she kept looking at him that way with those damned blue eyes and even had him wishing for things that could never be. It was his fault. When had he stopped acting a part? When had he forgotten that this weekend was about pretence, that it wasn’t real?

      When she’d bucked underneath him in bed, her body writhing in its sweat-slicked release? Or when she’d talked about her parents and made him want to reach out and soothe her pain?

      He stopped where the beach turned to rock, looked out over the sea to the looming dark shapes of the nearest islands.

      One more day. One more night. And he would take her home before he could hurt her and there would be no more dreams.

      It was as easy and as hard as that.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      SHE needed this. Eve lay on the massage table, scented candles perfuming the air, skilful hands working the knots out of her back and neck. She only wished someone would work out the knots in her mind, but that was impossible while Leo Zamos was at their core.

      He’d been so desperate to get away, bursting from the bure this morning like the devil himself was after him. She’d watched him go, lit by moonlight as he’d moved through the trees towards the beach. Watched him and waited for him to come back. But eventually she’d gone back to bed and when she’d woken, he’d been sitting, having coffee on the deck.

      She didn’t know what it was, only that something was terribly, desperately wrong and that if he only opened up and shared what was troubling him, maybe she could help.

      She sighed, a mixture of muscular bliss and frustrated mind, as the masseuse had her roll over, readying her for her facial. What was the point of wanting to help? He didn’t want it and tomorrow she would go home, and all of this would be nothing more than a memory.

      She couldn’t afford to care. She mustn’t, even when he told her she was magical. Even when he tugged on her heart and her soul with his kiss.

      Even though she so very much wanted to believe it.

      Thoroughly pampered after their hours at the spa, the three women enjoyed a late lunch at the big house, on the terrace overlooking the pool. The men were still in conference apparently, although Maureen suggested that might just mean they’d popped out in the boat for a spot of fishing while the women weren’t looking. Not that it mattered. After they’d been massaged until their bones had just about melted, they were more than content to sit and chat in the warm, balmy air of tropical North Queensland. After all, they were going home tomorrow. Soon enough real life would intrude.

      Sam was once again more than happy to provide the entertainment if they weren’t up to it. He tottered between the three women, perfectly at ease with them all now, sharing around building blocks he’d taken a shine to, taking them back and redistributing them as if this was all part of some grand plan, happily chattering the whole time. Eve watched him, so proud of her little man, knowing that at least when Leo walked out of her life, she would still have Sam. He’d surprised her too. Instead of providing a disruptive force, as she’d expected, it seemed that, at least in some part, he seemed to pull them together. He definitely kept them amused.

      And Felicity surprised her again, playing his games, picking him up when he passed, giving him hugs and raspberry kisses on his cheek to his squeals and giggles of delight before he scampered off on his toddler legs.

      ‘I always wanted a child,’ she said wistfully, her eyes following his escape. ‘In fact, I always imagined myself surrounded by children. And when I met Richard and thought he was the one, I thought it might happen, even though it was already getting late…’ Then she blinked and looked around. ‘I guess things sometimes turn out differently to what we expect.’

      And the other two women nodded, each wrapped in their own separate thoughts and experiences.

      ‘It seemed easier to give up and pretend it didn’t matter. But meeting you and seeing you with Sam makes me realise how much it means to me. I want to try again. At least one more time.’ Tears made her eyes glassy. ‘You’re so lucky to be able to give Leo a child, Evelyn. I really wish I could do the same for Richard.’ Her voice hitched. ‘Damn! I’m so sorry.’ She fled inside.

      Eve felt sick, a hand instinctively going to her mouth. And all the good feelings, all the positive goodwill she’d been stashing away in her memory while she was determined to enjoy this weekend were for nothing. They meant nothing if her deceit led someone else to want what she was having. A wish based on a lie.

      She rose to follow and tell her exactly that when Maureen stopped her. ‘Let her go.’

      ‘But she thinks—’

      Maureen nodded. ‘I know what she thinks.’

      ‘But you don’t understand.’ She slumped back in her chair, feeling the weight of the lie crushing down on her, feeling her heart squeezed tight, knowing she couldn’t go home without admitting the truth. ‘I hate this! I hate the pretence. I’m so sorry, Maureen.’ She shook her head, and still couldn’t find a nice way to say it. ‘Look, Leo’s not really Sam’s father.’

      She heard a sharp intake of air, followed by an equally sharp exhalation. But then, instead of the censure she’d expected, or the outrage, she felt a gentling hand over her own. ‘I wondered when you were going to feel able to share that.’

      Warily, feeling sicker than ever, Eve looked up. ‘You knew?’

      ‘From the moment I met you in that bar in Melbourne. Of course, Sam could have passed for Leo’s son, but it was crystal clear to anyone who had ever been a mother that Leo had no idea about being a father. And then his awkwardness