Modern Romance August 2019 Books 1-4. Heidi Rice

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      He frowned. ‘You’re kidding?’

      ‘Lucas, this is a big city and I’m exploring it the best I can! I can’t be expected to know every single name which trips off your tongue.’

      ‘It just happens to be one of the best department stores in the city, possibly the world,’ he commented drily. ‘And I’ll drop you off there tomorrow morning, on my way to work.’

      ‘But we might not be able to get an appointment so soon,’ she objected.

      His brief smile managed to be both dismissive and entitled. ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he drawled as he parted her thighs with insistent fingers. ‘We’ll get one. You haven’t forgotten that you’re cooking dinner for six on Friday, have you?’

      ‘No, Lucas. I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been racking my brains to come up with a menu for days.’ She swallowed. ‘And you doing that to me isn’t exactly helping me work out what to give them for dessert.’

      ‘Damn the dessert,’ he growled.

      But by the following morning Tara felt sick with nerves at the thought of presenting herself to a professional stylist, horribly aware of the plainness and age of her bra and pants and wishing she could skip the whole ordeal. Because it turned out that Lucas had been right and there were any number of slots available for a man like him at short notice.

      Reluctantly, she joined him in the back of his car, which then proceeded to get snarled up in the early-morning traffic. It was stop-start all the way and Tara started to feel even more queasy. ‘It’s very stuffy in here.’

      ‘I’ll turn up the A/C.’

      ‘I don’t want any more air-conditioning. I want to get out and walk,’ she croaked.

      He shot her a quick glance. ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘I will be when I’m outside in the fresh air.’

      ‘Fine. Come on, I’ll walk you there.’

      ‘Honestly, there’s no need. I can find the store perfectly well on my own and I don’t want you to be late for your meeting.’

      ‘Tara,’ he said patiently, his voice underpinned with a hint of impatience. ‘It’s pointless objecting. I’m taking you there. End of discussion.’

      He tapped the glass and spoke to his driver, then helped Tara out of the car. She saw a glamorous woman blinking at her in bemusement as she stepped onto the sidewalk in her sweatpants and trainers, swamped by a big old anorak she’d brought with her from Dublin. But it was great to be outside, despite the stationary traffic and ever-hooting cars. As Lucas fell into a steady walk beside her, she thought how well he seemed to know the streets and when she remarked on this, he shrugged.

      ‘I grew up near here.’

      ‘Whereabouts?’

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’

      ‘I think it does.’ She came to a sudden halt and a speed-walking man who was holding a cup of coffee above his head had to swerve to avoid her. ‘I’d like to see where you lived, please.’

      Lucas bit back an exasperated retort, but he altered his steps accordingly, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. If it had been any other woman than Tara he would have refused point-blank. He would have delivered a rebuke which suggested that unless she started behaving as he wanted her to behave, their relationship would be over. But it wasn’t any other woman. It was Tara and she was pregnant and therefore he could never completely finish a relationship with her because, one way or another, they would be tied through their child for the rest of their lives. He wondered if she had any idea how much that terrified him or if she’d begun to guess at the self-doubts which flooded through him. Was that why there had been a subtle shift in her mood lately? Why she’d become unpredictable and emotional. Had it just dawned on her that he could never be the man she probably wanted him to be? Why, only yesterday when he’d arrived home, her eyes had been red-rimmed from crying and she’d been unwilling to provide an explanation of what had upset her. It was only later that she’d blurted out about hearing a radio request show playing ‘Danny Boy’, after which she’d been overcome by a wave of temporary homesickness.

      Deep down, he knew their situation was untenable in its current form. That in just over six months’ time she would give birth to his child and everything would change. He realised that she wanted reassurance he would be there for her, and in the important ways he would. Providing for her financially was always going to be simple—but giving her the emotional support he suspected she needed was not. Why promise to be the man he could never be? Why bolster her hopes, only to smash them and let her down? Surely it would be kinder to let her know where she stood right from the start.

      His footsteps slowed as he reached Upper East Side, his heart clenching as he came to a halt outside an opulent mansion which was edged by elegant railings and neatly trimmed greenery. Outwardly, it seemed that very little had changed. There were still those two old-fashioned-looking streetlights he’d used to stare down on from within the echoing loneliness of his childhood bedroom.

      ‘This is it,’ he said reluctantly, his gaze lifting upwards to the four-storeyed building.

      ‘Gosh,’ breathed Tara, loosening her long scarf as she craned her neck to look up at it. ‘It’s massive. You must have rattled around in it like peas inside a tin can.’

      He gave a bitter smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Furniture and objects can occupy an astonishing amount of space and it’s amazing what you can do with nineteen rooms and an unlimited budget. Especially when someone else is paying for it.’

      ‘Nineteen rooms?’ she verified incredulously. ‘In New York?’

      He nodded. ‘The dining room was modelled on the one at the Palace of Versailles and there’s a hand-painted ballroom with a pure gold ceiling—not to mention a corridor wide enough to ride a bicycle down.’

      ‘Is that what you used to do?’

      ‘Only once,’ he said flatly. That had been the first time his ‘father’ had hit him. His nanny—one in a long line of indifferent women in whose care he’d spent most of his time—had spotted the bruise when he was getting ready for bed, readily accepting his explanation that he’d acquired it after falling over. Later he’d discovered that the nanny in question had been sleeping with Diego. He’d overheard an indiscreet maid exclaiming that the woman had been discovered naked with him on the floor of the library, a litter of used condoms beside them. All he could remember about that particular incident had been his mother screaming. And then sobbing as she had dramatically stabbed at her wrists with a blunt blade which had refused to cut.

      Tara stared at him. ‘You must have felt very isolated there. My own...’ she ventured hesitantly, before plucking up the courage to say it. To reassure him that her own life hadn’t been all roses around the cottage door. Well, it had—but there had been very sharp thorns on those roses. ‘My own childhood was pretty isolated. In fact, my grandmother—’

      ‘Look, I really don’t have time for this,’ he said, with an impatient narrowing of his eyes as he glanced at his watch. ‘And I have an imminent meeting. The city tour is over and so is the glimpse into my past. Come on, let’s get you to Bloomingdale’s—it’s only ten minutes’ walk away.’

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