Being made love to, as if she was the only woman in the world that Charles had wanted to be with.
She could have had a faceless fantasy to tap into but it had seemed perfectly safe to use Charles because she had never expected to see him again. And it had made it all seem so much more believable, because it had happened.
Once...
And, somewhere along the way, she had allowed herself to wonder about all the things she didn’t know about him. What kind of house he lived in, for example. What his favourite food was. Whether he was married now and had a bunch of gorgeous kids.
She probably could have found out with a quick internet search but she never allowed those secret thoughts any head space in daylight hours. And, as soon as she’d started considering working at Manhattan Mercy, she had shut down even the familiar fantasy. It was no more than a very personal secret—a rather embarrassing one now.
But...entering his private domain like this was...
Satisfying?
Exciting?
Astonishing, certainly.
For some reason, she had expected it to be like the apartment she was living in on the ground floor of this wonderful, old building with its high ceilings and period features like original fireplaces and polished wooden floors. She had also expected the slightly overwhelming aura of wealth and style that Stefan and Jerome had created with their bespoke furniture and expertly displayed artworks.
The framework of the apartment with the floors and ceilings was no surprise but Grace’s breath was taken away the moment she stepped through the door to face floor-to-ceiling windows that opened onto a terrace looking directly over Central Park. The polished floors didn’t have huge Persian rugs like hers and the furniture looked like it had once been in a house out in the country somewhere. A big, old rambling farmhouse, maybe.
The couch was enormous and so well used that the leather looked crinkled and soft. There were picture books scattered over the rustic coffee table, along with crayons and paper and even the curling crust of an abandoned sandwich. There were toys all over the place, too—building bricks and brightly coloured cars, soft toy animals and half-done jigsaw puzzles.
It looked like...home...
The kind of home that was as much of a fantasy for Grace as being held—and loved—by someone totally genuine.
She had to swallow a huge lump in her throat.
And then she had to laugh, because Houston made a beeline for the coffee table and scoffed the old sandwich crust.
‘I’m hungry,’ Cameron announced, as he spotted the dog licking its lips.
‘Me, too.’ Max nodded.
Cameron upended his pumpkin bucket of candy onto the coffee table. Grace gave Houston a stern look that warned him to keep his nose out. Then she extracted the handfuls of candy from Cameron’s fists.
‘You can choose one thing,’ she told him. ‘But you can’t eat it until after your dinner, okay?’
Cameron scowled at her. ‘But I’m hungry.’
‘I know.’ Grace was putting the candy back into the bucket. ‘Show me where the kitchen is and I’ll make you some dinner. You’d better show me where the bathroom is, too.’
The twins led her into a spacious kitchen with a walk-in pantry.
‘I’ll show you,’ Max offered.
He climbed onto a small step and wobbled precariously as he reached for something on a shelf. Grace caught him as he, and the packet he had triumphantly caught the edge of, fell off the step. For a moment, she stood there with the small, warm body in its fluffy monkey suit in her arms. She could smell the soft scent of something that was distinctly child-like. Baby shampoo, maybe?
Max giggled at the pleasure of being caught and, without thinking, Grace planted a kiss on his forehead.
‘Down you go,’ she said. ‘And keep those monkey paws on the floor, where they’re safe.’
She stooped to pick up the packet as she set him down.
‘Mac and cheese? Is that what you guys want to eat?’
‘Yes...yes...mac and cheese. For Horse, too...’
Houston waved his plume of a tail, clearly in agreement with the plan, but Grace was more dubious. She eyed the fruit bowl on the table in the kitchen and then the big fridge freezer. Could she tempt them to something healthier first—like an apple or a carrot? Were there some vegetables they might like in the freezer to go with the cheese and pasta? And packet pasta? Really? If she could find the ingredients, it wouldn’t be hard to throw a fresh version in the oven. Cooking—and baking—were splinter skills she had enjoyed honing over the years.
The twins—and Horse—crowded around as she checked out what she might have to work with. There wasn’t much in the way of fresh vegetables but the freezer looked well stocked.
‘What’s this?’ The long cylindrical object was unfamiliar.
‘Cookie dough,’ Cameron told her. ‘Maria makes us cookies.’
‘Can you make cookies, Gace?’ Max leaned forward so that he could turn his head to look up at her as she crouched. ‘I like cookies.’ Again, she had to catch him before he lost his balance and toppled into the freezer drawer.
‘I don’t see why not,’ she decided. ‘You can help. But only if you both eat an apple while I’m getting things ready. And we won’t use the frozen sort. If there’s some flour in the pantry and butter in the fridge, we’ll make our own. From scratch.’
Over an hour later, Grace realised that the grand plan might have been ill-advised. This huge kitchen with its granite and stainless-steel work surfaces looked like a food bomb had been detonated and the sink was stacked with dirty pots and bowls. A fine snowstorm of flour had settled everywhere along with shreds of grated cheese and dribbles of chocolate icing. Houston had done his best to help and there wasn’t a single crumb to be found on the floor, but he wasn’t so keen on raw flour.
Whose idea had it been to make Halloween spider cookies?
The boys were sitting on the bench right now, on either side of the tray of cookies that had come out of the oven a short time ago. They had to be so tired by now, but they both had their hands clasped firmly in front of them, their eyes huge with excitement as they waited patiently for Grace to tell them it was safe to touch the hot cookies. It was so cute, she had to get her phone out and take a photo. Then she took a close-up of the cookies. The pale dough had made a perfect canvas for the iced chocolate spiders that had M&M eyes. She’d used a plastic bag to make a piping tool and had done her best to guide three-year-old hands to position spider legs but the results were haphazard. One spider appeared to be holding its eyes on the ends of a very fat leg.
Should she send one of the photos to Charles?
A closer glance at the image of his sons made her decide not to. Still in their monkey suits, the boys now had chocolate smears on their faces and the curls of Max’s hair that had escaped his hood had something that looked like cheese sauce in it. Her own hair had somehow escaped its fastenings recently and she was fairly sure that she would find a surprise or two when she tried to brush it later.
Hopefully, she would have time to clean up before their father got home but the children and the kitchen would have to take priority. Not wanting to look a wreck in front of Charles was no excuse to worry about her own appearance. She was still in her work scrubs, for heaven’s sake—what did it matter?
She prodded one of the cookies.
‘Still too hot, guys,’ she said. ‘But our mac and cheese has cooled down. You can have some of that and then the cookies will be ready for dessert.’
She