One Night She Would Never Forget

Miranda felt cornered. She was absolutely, one hundred per cent not okay with it. But she’d have to choose her words carefully in front of little ears. Somehow ‘I’d rather stick a red-hot poker in my eye than have a low-down cheating skunk in my house’ didn’t seem appropriate with their audience.

‘Pleeeeeath,’ Ruby begged, looking up at Miranda. Her two front teeth were missing, something that no doubt exacerbated the lisp.

‘It would give us a good chance to talk,’ Patrick murmured close to her ear.

‘Pleeeeeease, Mummy.’

Miranda took in all three, each in their own way desperate for something from her, and knew when she was defeated. ‘Okay,’ she acquiesced. ‘But only for a short visit. I’ve got a bit of a headache and tomorrow will be another long day.’

‘Yaaaay!’ Two little girls squealed and jumped up and down, hugging each other, strands of blonde and red hair intertwining.

‘Yay,’ said Patrick.

But his voice was lower, edgier, sexier and slid into places he’d already been and shouldn’t have.

Miranda shivered.

Twenty minutes later the knock on her front door heralded Patrick and Ruby’s arrival and Miranda felt the squall inside intensify. The two tablets she’d taken for her headache had started to work but the thump returned with a vengeance as Lola squealed and raced to answer the door.

Miranda looked around her small two-bedroom residence feeling suddenly inadequate. She’d been living above her grandmother’s garage since before Lola’s birth and although she’d made it into a nice cosy home, it wasn’t where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

Patrick probably lived in a mansion. On the river. With a city view. What would he make of this?

Lola and Ruby ran past her into Lola’s bedroom in a blur of blonde and red and left her alone with Patrick standing in the doorway in his business shirt and trousers looking tired and sexy and rumpled, just like he had that night six months ago. Her heart fluttered madly.

‘Hi.’ He smiled.

Miranda wanted to smile at him too. Say hi back as she walked straight into his arms and gave in to the passion that still burned deep inside despite her animosity. He looked so at home in her doorway it was scary.

She took a breath. ‘Come in,’ she said. It felt stiff and awkward but that was too bad. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

‘Sure.’

Patrick pushed off the doorframe. She looked tired and wary and he couldn’t blame her but her jeans clung and her T-shirt stretched nicely across breasts he’d dreamed about a little too much, and he was right back there in that hotel room with her.

He followed her across the lounge into the open-plan kitchen, leaning his butt against a bench as she busied herself. ‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he said.

Miranda, hyper-aware of him standing behind her, absently touched her nape where her pixie cut now feathered. ‘Yes,’ she said, her hands shaking as she poured hot water into mugs.

She supposed he had some fancy Italian coffee machine that made double-shot decaf lattes. All she had was instant and an electric jug.

‘Mummy, can we have cupcakes now?’

Miranda turned, pleased for the interruption. She nodded at her daughter and Patrick’s, looking all Shirley Temple and little orphan Annie. ‘It’s all set. Help yourselves.’ Lola clapped excitedly. ‘But remember, it’s polite to serve your guest first.’

Lola nodded. ‘Come on, Ruby—Mummy and I made a tea party!’

‘Come on, Daddy,’ Ruby said, tugging on his hand as Lola pulled her towards the table.

He shrugged at Miranda. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. Go and join them. I’ll bring your coffee.’

Miranda wrapped her hands around a mug and thanked the universe for the breathing space. She’d felt his gaze on her neck like a caress and could almost feel his lips brushing there too.

She pulled herself together and fixed the coffees, lecturing herself about the inappropriateness of her thoughts. By the time she walked on spaghetti legs to the exquisitely set table she felt more in control.

‘Thanks,’ Patrick said, as she put his mug down.

It looked out of place amidst the fancy-looking china that Lola had insisted they use for the impromptu tea party. Her grandmother had bought it for Lola a couple of years ago and though it had been inexpensive, it looked fit for a queen.

‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘It’s all a bit girly.’

Patrick smiled and shook his head. ‘I like a tea party as much as the next man,’ he declared, and the girls laughed hysterically as he stuck out his pinky and sipped his coffee.

‘Your daddy is funny,’ Lola said around a mouthful of cake.

Miranda agreed.

And sexy and manly and one hundred per cent at home in an environment that was suffocating in oestrogen. Which only ramped up his own masculinity. He looked so incredibly male amidst the frippery of a girly afternoon tea with the china and the delicate pink cupcakes, she wanted to drag him to her bedroom, rip his shirt open and rediscover every inch of his maleness.

Play a little doctor and nurse.

They made stilted conversation with their daughters for ten minutes before Lola announced they were going to watch some TV.

And then there were two.

Miranda stood and started gathering dishes. When Patrick placed a stilling hand on her arm she ignored it, continuing her task with manic speed.

‘Miranda,’ he said quietly, refusing to remove his hand, refusing to be ignored. ‘I need to explain.’

Miranda shook her head. ‘No,’ she said as she pushed crumbs from one plate onto another. ‘No, you don’t. Let’s just pretend it never happened and move on, okay? I won’t mention it, you won’t mention it…’ she stacked plates one on top of the other and picked them up, turning to leave ‘… and it’ll be fine.’

Patrick applied a little more pressure on her forearm and he felt the weight of her gaze as it moved to his hand, his gold wedding band a reminder of their predicament. ‘Miranda, we have to work together,’ he said gently. ‘I do need to explain. Sit. Please.’

Miranda would rather have enrolled in a medical trial that involved daily root-canal treatment but deep down she knew he was right. They did have to clear the air, for their professional life if nothing else. Or one of them was going to have to leave.

And she was guessing it would have to be the most expendable.

Which would be her.

She sat.

CHAPTER THREE

PATRICK HAD FORMULATED a spiel in his head on the drive to Miranda’s. But it didn’t seem adequate enough now as she sat stiffly, staring transfixed at the table as if the debris littering the lacy cloth was diamond chips instead of cake crumbs.

Whatever else he said, he knew he had to start with an apology. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t one hundred per cent honest with you at the bar that night.’