Her Secret, His Child: A Night, A Secret...A Child / One-Night Love-Child / The French Aristocrat's Baby. Miranda LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
ten years. Maybe the Serina he remembered had changed, too. Maybe she’d put on weight. Maybe she’d cut her lovely hair short and started wearing polyester tracksuits.
‘Surely not,’ he muttered as he switched off the engine and extracted the key. It wasn’t in her nature to let herself go. She was a perfectionist, like him. He only had to see what she’d done with the family business to know that she’d become a right little powerhouse in her own way. A woman like that would still look after her appearance.
Feeling relieved, Nicolas pushed open the driver’s door, only to be met by a great whoosh of warm air.
It’s hot, he thought as he climbed down from behind the wheel. Swelteringly, blisteringly hot.
Admittedly, his blood was thick because he’d been living in the northern winter. But still… how had he stood it here every summer? None of the houses or shops in Rocky Creek had had air-conditioning back then.
Nicolas shook his head and moved quickly over to the cream brick building, grateful to see two cooling units sitting by the side wall.
The girl behind the rather high and very long reception desk looked up as he entered the chilled space, her plump, plain face lighting up into a welcoming smile.
‘You must be Mr Dupre,’ she said chirpily.
‘I am,’ he agreed.
‘I’m Allie. He’s here, Serina,’ she called out over her shoulder into the open-plan office.
Nicolas stepped closer to the chest-high counter and followed the direction of Allie’s eyes.
And there she was.
His Serina, sitting behind a wide, wooden, sun-drenched desk.
His heart virtually stopped when she stood up and made her way across the room. She hadn’t lost her gorgeous figure, he noted as his gaze raked her body from head to toe. She was just the same as she’d looked at his mother’s funeral: lush and beautiful.
This time, however, she wasn’t wearing black. Far from it. Her dress was extremely bright, emerald-green with large multicoloured flowers printed around the hem of the gathered skirt. The top was sleeveless and square-necked, a wide white belt cinching in her waist, highlighting her hourglass shape. As she walked, her hair, which was slightly shorter at shoulder length, swung like a sleek dark curtain around her slender shoulders.
The only thing that had really changed was her face. It was the face of a woman now, a woman who was clearly determined not to be bowled over by an old flame hitting town. Her eyes were decidedly cool as she approached, and there was a hint of annoyance in the firm set of her lips.
‘You got here more quickly than I thought you would,’ she said.
‘I was anxious to see my home town again. Which, I might add, is looking wonderful. As are you,’ he added, and looked hard at her mouth, that same mouth that had known every inch of his body.
Her lips pressed even more firmly together. ‘You’re looking very well yourself,’ came her somewhat stiff reply. ‘Look, I’ll just get my handbag and we’ll go straight over to the school, where you can meet everyone and find out where and when you have to go tomorrow.’
‘Fine,’ he replied, not sure what to make of her impersonal manner. ‘And then we’ll drive to Port for a long lunch by the water,’ he added whilst he had her where he wanted her—in public. ‘We can catch up on old times. That’ll be all right, won’t it, girls?’ he said, smiling at Allie then at the other girl he’d spotted sitting at a desk not far from Serina’s. ‘You can cope without the boss for the rest of today, can’t you?’
‘Absolutely,’ they chorused, beaming back at him.
‘Great,’ he said, and totally ignored Serina’s scowl.
‘Your handbag?’ he prodded with a smooth smile when she just stood there, glowering at him. Sucking in sharply, she spun on her heels and stalked back to her desk.
‘I’m Emma, by the way,’ the other girl piped up during the time it took Serina to collect her bag.
She was the more attractive of the two, though Nicolas could have guaranteed that she was not a natural blonde. Her short spiked hair had decidedly brassy ends with dark roots.
‘Lovely to meet you, Emma. And you must call me Nicolas,’ he said to both of them. ‘So will you two girls be at the talent quest tomorrow afternoon?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Emma answered. ‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Everyone in town’s going, and quite a lot of people from the surrounding areas. Felicity’s done a great job at promotion. She printed out hundreds of fliers on her computer and she and her friends delivered them to every post-box for miles.’
‘Yes, and it cost me a small fortune in paper,’ Serina grumbled on rejoining him. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘See you tomorrow night, Nicolas,’Emma called after them.
‘Looking forward to it,’ he called back…
SERINA gritted her teeth as both of them stepped outside, steeling herself for a very difficult day.
‘I’d forgotten how hot it can get here in the summer,’ Nicolas said. ‘I should have put shorts on.’
His comment drew her gaze, not just to his trousers—which were beige and elegantly cut—but his overall appearance. He’d aged very little during the last ten years. There was no extra flab to spoil his tall lean body and only a few extra lines around his eyes and mouth. No one would believe he was almost forty. He cut the same dashing figure whom she’d faced at his mother’s funeral, and who’d once wowed the audiences at his concerts. He still wore his blond wavy hair down to his collar, she noted irritably, still had ridiculously long eyelashes and the bluest of blue eyes—eyes that had always set her heartbeat racing even when she was a young girl.
Her heart was racing now. It had started the moment he’d walked into the office.
Her automatic response to him annoyed the hell out of her. One would have thought that the years would have brought her more control—and a lot more common sense. All she could hope for was that her feelings weren’t written all over her face.
‘No need really,’ she replied crisply. ‘I presume your hire car has air-conditioning?’ She nodded towards the dark grey SUV parked opposite them.
‘Of course.’
‘Then let’s go get in,’ she suggested, her voice cool and confident but her insides anything but.
It wasn’t till they were inside the vehicle, with the engine and air-conditioning on, that she dared glance across in his direction once more. Even so she didn’t look at his face. She found her decidedly uptight gaze landing on his hands as he placed them on the steering wheel.
‘Oh, Nicolas!’ she exclaimed before she could stop herself.
‘What?’ His head jerked round, his blue eyes alarmed. ‘Your… your hand.’
‘Ah,’ he said knowingly, and lifted his left hand from the wheel, turning it this way and that as though it was a long time since he’d looked at it himself.
There was no thumb, not even a small stump, the digit having been amputated at the second knuckle. But that wasn’t all. The back of his hand was heavily scarred, the skin puckered up in places. His right hand had a few scars as well, she noted, but nothing like his left.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ he said drily, and placed it back down on the wheel, his remaining knuckles showing white when his fingers curved tightly around the rim. ‘Unfortunately, there are no compositions suitable for thumbless concert pianists. And to think I used to be able to span ten keys. But not to worry. It probably