Sweet Lies. Catherine O'Connor

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      ‘Not married!’ she exclaimed, more angry with herself than him. It was so unfair.

      ‘I nearly took the plunge,’ he said calmly, unaware of the searing, heated anger that tore through her body. All her noble sacrifices had been a waste, she thought. She was just the first, no doubt, in a long line of foolish women who had thought he was capable of commitment. She tried vainly to appear indifferent to this revelation but she was burning with curiosity and fury. She had been told by his mother, Janet, that he was having a serious relationship. She had told her clearly that marriage was round the corner, and Megan hadn’t had the confidence to question her. She’d felt so foolish. Megan recalled how she had feigned indifference to the news although her heart had been breaking. Had it all been lies? She had to know.

      ‘Cold feet?’ She tried to keep her voice light and joky, but she had been a victim of his sense of humour and her amusement was hollow. He shrugged.

      ‘In a way. I just realised it would have been a mistake, so I called it off.’

      ‘I see.’

      Megan didn’t want to probe any deeper. For some reason the thought of him caring for someone else hurt her more deeply than she was prepared to admit, even to herself.

      ‘Your marriage was happy?’ he commented, his voice strained but cool, and Megan felt the familiar panic that rose in her chest whenever her marriage was mentioned. She kept her lids lowered over her startled eyes to prevent him from seeing the truth she knew would be shining there.

      ‘Yes, very,’ she told him, hoping, for some reason, that he would be hurt by her words. As she cast a covert glance at his face she saw a flicker of emotion there, but she knew it was pure fantasy to imagine it was jealousy.

      ‘It must have been very hard to lose someone you loved,’ he said, with such deep understanding that Megan felt a momentary guilt at her deceit.

      ‘It was,’ she admitted truthfully, but it was not Karl she was thinking of.

      ‘How did your son react?’ he asked, his voice strangely soft and soothing, and Megan glanced up, surprised by his interest.

      ‘He never knew his father,’ she said quickly, her eyes darting to his. It wasn’t a lie. She would do everything in her power to ensure that Luke never knew the truth. It would be far too painful for both of them. Megan had never told Luke that Karl was his father—it was one lie she had known she couldn’t live with—but she had not denied it either. Luke had grown up with the idea that his father was dead, and though Megan had longed to tell the truth she was afraid of the emotional damage it might cause.

      ‘He doesn’t look like you. Does he take after his father?’ he asked, picking up a tiny, delicate blini topped with smoked salmon. It was a casual enough question, but Megan cursed the emotion his query was stirring within her.

      ‘As he grows older, he looks more like his father,’ she confessed.

      She wanted to tell him about his son, longed to tell him, but she knew she couldn’t. The web of lies she had carefully spun for Luke must remain intact. She would not allow her child to feel the pain of rejection she had been subjected to. He reached out, wrapping his strong, warm hand over hers, squeezing it gently.

      ‘I’m sorry. It must be hard for you.’

      ‘No, I’m just being silly,’ she said quickly, fully aware of the heat from his hand that was slowly permeating her body. She felt her heart race at his familiar touch and she stared at his hand, looking at the dark mat of hairs that criss-crossed his hand with intensity. She was so sensitive to him that it frightened her. For once, after so many years, she felt alive again, every nerve in her body tingling with anticipation.

      ‘My Meg, my poor Meg,’ he crooned softly, stroking his slender fingers across her gently trembling hand. Her response was a soft, almost soundless laugh as she withdrew her hand from his. She was afraid of the sharp tug of attraction he was arousing in her and the intimate use of their childhood name for her.

      ‘Poor!’ She laughed hollowly. ‘No, Darrow, my days of poverty are over.’

      His eyes narrowed as he studied her, his expression hardening to granite.

      ‘You’re still poor Megan. You always will be till you learn true values.’ He bit out the words, his anger spilling out in the bitter blue-blackness of his eyes.

      ‘I know this, Darrow. It’s easy to appreciate the finer things in life when you don’t have to worry about the basics. I’ve struggled to achieve what I have now, and believe me there is no dignity in poverty. So don’t preach to me about being poor in spirit till you have experienced it for yourself,’ she threw back at him, hating his condescending attitude.

      ‘What a change. I never saw you as a material girl,’ he jeered, shocked by the change in her. ‘I thought it odd that you were unable to make it to your mother’s funeral. You’re obviously able to come now. No doubt it was the will that brought you back.’

      Megan was about to protest her innocence, but her words died on her lips. She could not reveal the real reason why she had missed the funeral as just then Luke returned.

      ‘Hello, Luke. Did you win?’ she asked, realising immediately that she did not have his attention.

      ‘You do everything, don’t you?’ he asked Darrow with obvious enthusiasm. ‘I’ve been talking to Suzie.’ Megan saw the light of admiration glowing in her son’s eyes and sighed inwardly. The last thing she needed was a bad case of hero-worship; the situation was difficult enough as it was.

      ‘Whatever do you mean, Luke?’ She laughed as he drew up a chair between them and picked up three different canapés, ignoring Megan’s disapproving frown with customary ease. He popped two immediately in his mouth, nodding in approval and swallowing quickly in order to explain.

      ‘River-rafting, abseiling, canoeing, skiing.’ He paused to pick up another canapé and Megan gave his hand a sharp tap. Luke flashed Darrow a grin, and the easy bond that seemed to have sprung between them pierced Megan’s heart.

      ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked, hardly waiting for Darrow to answer.

      ‘No not all. Help yourself.’

      Luke’s grin broadened at his words; he was clearly delighting in the camaraderie.

      ‘I’d love to try everything. Do you instruct, Mr…?’

      ‘Darrow. Everyone calls me Darrow.’

      ‘Darrow,’ repeated Luke, enjoying the adult approach Darrow was taking with him. Megan twisted the stem of her wine glass, trying to remain indifferent to their close proximity and easy conversation. She watched them both with nervous expectation, a chill spiralling down her spine as she caught the close scrutiny Darrow was subjecting Luke to. His dark eyes were assessing Luke very closely indeed, and a tremor of apprehension vibrated through her body.

      ‘Luke, fetch me another glass of wine, would you?’ she asked. She had sounded abrupt and for a moment Luke looked confused, though he immediately responded by taking up her empty glass.

      ‘I guess you two want to talk alone,’ he said, making an exaggerated wink as he looked at Darrow, whose face broke out into a wide smile. Megan СКАЧАТЬ