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Sadie thought of the mess she’d left behind as she’d hurriedly changed into this dress, which she’d bought in a discount store earlier that day. ‘Is that really necessary? I can rush back now and pack...’
But he shook his head, already taking out his phone again, giving instructions.
This new businesslike version of Quin was a revelation to her. When she’d known him he’d been the quintessential surfer traveller. He’d also been a tech nerd, spending hours a day on his laptop, not issuing instructions like this.
But then that memory returned of when they’d gone to the hospital in Sao Paulo, for her to have Sol. For the first time she’d seen Quin in authoritative mode, and the way the doctors and nurses had meekly acquiesced to his instructions, as if sensing his innate authority. No wonder. He’d been oozing generations of privilege and entitlement.
She hadn’t taken too much notice at the time, because she’d been in the middle of intense labour pains, but now it clicked into place like a missing jigsaw piece. As did the fact that he’d managed to get her into a private birthing suite at the hospital. At the time she’d wondered only vaguely how they could afford it...
She felt naive now. For not questioning him about his past more. For trusting him so blindly.
He handed her the phone. ‘Tell Martha what she needs to know to pack your things.’
Sadie took the phone and turned away from Quin, not wanting him to hear her apologising for the state of the room before telling the perfectly polite woman on the other end where her things were. She’d always been messy, in contrast to Quin’s almost fanatical tidiness.
She turned around again and handed back the phone. ‘Thank you. I really appreciate you taking me with you.’
‘I’m not doing it for your benefit, believe me. My driver is waiting.’
Quin put out a hand for Sadie to precede him out of the area leading into the party. She noted that he was careful not to touch her. She was grateful, even as she ached for his touch. She didn’t need him seeing how attuned to him she still was after all this time.
In the back of the chauffeur-driven car, the air between them was frigid. Quin looked out of the opposite window, brooding. He must be irritated that she’d disrupted his evening. Sadie sat still, afraid that if she moved even an inch Quin would change his mind and throw her out onto the road.
But the car sped on, through the streets and off the island of Manhattan to a private airfield, where a woman in a smart trouser suit was waiting with Sadie’s small wheelie case, which she’d been dragging around with her for years now. At that moment Sadie wanted to throw it into the nearest bin, she was so heartily sick of it and its reminders of what she’d endured.
But it would have one last journey to make—because she wasn’t leaving her son’s side ever again, no matter how she did it. Even if she had to camp outside Quin’s home.
And at least she didn’t have to worry about how to get there.
The fact that they were stepping onto a sleek black private jet was almost negligible to Sadie, she was so eager to get to her son. But once on board she couldn’t help but notice the plush opulence. The softest carpet, and cream leather seats with gold trim. Quin was walking down the plane to some seats near the back. Not sure what to do, Sadie just followed him.
He sat down and looked at her. He waved a hand towards the other seats. ‘Make yourself comfortable. It’s a long flight—between nine and ten hours. We’ll arrive in the morning. Sao Paulo is an hour ahead of our current time.’
Sadie became very aware of her dress. She gestured to herself. ‘I’ll change, then, into something more practical.’
Quin gestured behind him to a door. ‘The bedroom and bathroom are in there. Be my guest.’
Sadie had disappeared into the bedroom with the small case that seemed to be her only possession. Quin was so tense he wondered if he hadn’t burst a few blood vessels. Her scent lingered in the air, taunting him. He cursed and forced himself to relax as the crew prepared for take-off.
He still couldn’t quite believe that she had appeared in front of him within the last hour, as if conjured out of his imagination. But the response in his body was an unwelcome reminder that she was all too real. His blood was still hot. Sizzling. His muscles were aching from the control it had taken for him not to reach out and touch her... See if she was real. See if her skin still felt as soft. Her hair as silky.
He’d been aware of every minute move she’d made in the back of the car, barely breathing in case her scent went too deep inside him.
He wondered if he was crazy to be bringing her with him. But his legal counsel, whom he’d spoken to on the phone, had told him to find out what she wanted. They’d advised telling her to contact them through the proper channels. They hadn’t said to keep her close at all costs. That was his own decision. An instinct to keep an eye on her... In case she disappeared again?
No, he told himself. It was a practical move to make sure he knew what she was up to. If she was with him, she couldn’t take him by surprise again.
He scowled at himself. She’d disappeared once before, and he had no doubt she would do it again. He just had to figure out what it was she was after. Because she might deny that timing had anything to do with it, but it was almost laughable that she’d chosen this exact moment to reappear.
He’d been independently wealthy for the last few years, once his startup had gained attention and traction, but the stock market flotation had put it and him onto another level. She’d obviously been biding her time. She’d known based on what he’d told her back then that this might happen one day. She was the one who had first encouraged him and told him it was a great idea.
Maybe—the thought occurred to him—she was going to try and claim some kind of ownership of the company? Make a case for him owing her something of the profits?
At that moment the door opened behind him and he tensed all over again as her scent preceded her. She walked past him and he noticed that she’d replaced the dress with faded jeans and soft pink short-sleeved top. She’d pulled her hair back into a messy knot. But he couldn’t look away from where the material of her jeans lovingly cupped her heart-shaped backside. As pert and plump as he remembered. Small waist. Narrow torso. Firm breasts.
One of his last memories of her was when she’d been breastfeeding Sol in their bed, after they’d returned to Sao Sebastiao on the coast. She’d been pale. Distracted. He’d put it down to the stress of trying to get the baby to feed properly. He’d been fractious. As if he’d sensed that something was wrong... But how could he have known that his mother would walk out and leave him just a couple of days later?
Clearly she’d known something then too... After Sol was born she’d changed, become withdrawn, hadn’t been able to meet his eye. Again, he’d assumed it was just to be expected after something as monumental as giving birth.