Secret Daddy(46)

The sun had been out every day and I made the most of it, though my pale skin seemed oblivious to my attempts to tan, stubbornly refusing to darken. I hated it at times, feeling it made me look more like a porcelain doll than a person. No matter how long I was out on the bike, I was as pale as ever when I got home, it was infuriating.

I’d almost managed to forget Dominic Hawke. Almost. I hadn’t forgotten how hot he’d looked, nor the way he looked at me like a wolf looks at a sheep, the way that had made me shrink in front of him. It was like he could see through my dress and it was enough to make me glad to leave him with his parcel, heading back down in the lift, relieved that the experience was over. I left his building fanning my face to cool down, despite the breeze I seemed baking hot all of a sudden.

He was bad news, that was obvious, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him anyway. The rational part of me knew someone like that would not make a good partner. He would make me one more notch on his bespoke mahogany bedpost before turning me into an anecdote to laugh at with the guys at work. That deep voice of his would tell them all about me, that deep voice that had made me melt, made me call him Sir without thinking. He was bad news, I told myself again and again. You don’t get involved with someone like that.

Not that it mattered because I knew I’d never see him again. Then on Monday lunchtime, I came home from a morning ride to find Clare nowhere to be seen. There was a parcel on the coffee table, a note taped to the top.



Had to go into uni. Any chance you could deliver this to your new lover for me? Needs to be there by one. I understand if not. Love you!



I curled my fingers into fists. That was so passive aggressive of her. Just because I’d done it once, she assumed I’d happily do it again. I could refuse, of course. I could leave it on the table and tell her when she came back that I wasn’t doing her job for her. But then I reread the note, lifting it to look at the address. Dominic Hawke again.

All of a sudden, I didn’t want to refuse. If I did that, I wouldn’t get to hear that wonderfully deep voice again, I wouldn’t get to see the guy I had fantasised about for the last three nights after the lights had gone out. The guy who wouldn’t get out of my head, no matter how much I convinced myself I didn’t care about him at all. I wished I hadn’t told her what I’d thought about him though. She’d be teasing me forever about my crush on the arrogant rich stranger.

I looked at the time and then swore under my breath. I wanted to shower after my bike ride, not arrive at his red and sweaty. But if I did that, it’d be late. Why hadn’t she warned me that morning? It wasn’t like I was busy, I could have done it first thing. “This is the last time,” I said to the empty room, snatching up the parcel and shoving it into the basket on my bike. I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince, her or me.

I realised five minutes into the ride that I was pedalling much faster than usual. Just don’t want to be late, I told myself. It definitely wasn’t because I wanted to see him again. Okay, maybe just a little bit.

The heat of the sun combined with the fact that I’d already been out that morning meant I was pretty tired by the time I reached his building. It was the same doorman as last time and he nodded when he saw the parcel, swiping his keycard a second later.

“Hi,” I said, putting on my best smile as I gradually caught my breath. “Back again.”

“Indeed you are,” he replied, holding his hand out to take my bike. “Delivery for Hawke?”

The way he said it sounded strange, like he was quoting the word delivery. Did he know something I didn’t? “Get a lot of parcels, does he?” I asked.

“I couldn’t possibly say.”

His face was inscrutable so I gave up trying to read him, turning to the lift and making my way up for the second time. I had no idea why my heart was beating faster as I rose up through the building, nor why the air suddenly seemed so thin. Maybe it was the height.

The doors swung open and I stepped out, crossing the carpet to press his doorbell. I glanced at my phone. One minute past one. Not bad considering I’d been at home at half past twelve.

The door swung open almost at once. “You’re late,” he snarled. “Again.”

“Oh, come on,” I replied. “It’s only one minute past.”

He looked like he was about to hit me for talking back to him. “You were supposed to be here by one.”

“Right,” I said, my voice quiet all of a sudden. What the hell was it about him that made me cave in under a second? “I’m sorry, Sir.”

He took the parcel from my hand and looked down at it, raising his eyebrows for the briefest of moments. “So how does it feel?”