Six Naughty Nights Read online

  His gaze moved to her lips. He wants to kiss you again, Esther. She remembered the way he’d pressed his lips to hers in the supermarket, under the table. Both of them had been covered in dust, grit in their mouths and their hearts still racing from the way the ground had ripped itself apart, and yet he’d managed to ignite something within her that had remained dormant for a long, long time.

  “Bear,” Charlie said. He raised his head. “Did you find him?”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” She kissed his forehead. “Toby’s been far too busy to look for Bear. People have to come first, honey. I’m sorry.” She bit her lip as Charlie’s eyes went glassy. He’d had Bear since he was born. Losing him somehow symbolised the whole futile situation and everything else they’d lost.

  “Ah,” Toby said. “But I never go back on a promise.” He fumbled behind his back and pulled something out from the waistband of his jeans.

  “Bear!” Charlie screamed, snatched the soft toy and buried his face in the grimy fur.

  “Oh my God, how did you…” Her voice failed her.

  “I knew he’d probably dropped him when I lifted him out of the trolley. Luckily there wasn’t too much debris in that part of the room.” Toby stroked Bear’s head. “I saw his paw sticking out from under a brick. I think he was trying to crawl to safety.”

  Emotion washed over her, and she pressed shaking fingers to her lips. But she couldn’t stop the sob that escaped them.

  Charlie raised his head, puzzled. “What’s up, Mummy?”

  Toby smiled at him. “You want to come with me with for a sec? I’m starving and I think I can see chocolate bars over there.”

  “Buttons?” Charlie asked, reaching out his arms as Toby took him from her.

  “I don’t know—let’s go and find out.” He walked off, still talking to the boy, to investigate the food they had to offer.

  Esther sank onto a nearby chair and buried her face in her hands, taking long, shaky breaths. How had he known the last thing she would have wanted was platitudes or attempts at physical comfort? If he’d tried to put his arms around her, she would have pushed him away.

  She smoothed her hands over her cheeks, wiping away her tears, probably smearing black dust across her face. Across the tent, Toby and Charlie talked to one of the volunteers, discussing which chocolate bar was their favourite. He’s going to be hyper all night if he eats that. Then she smiled wryly. She could have been talking about either of them.

  She watched them, a hand across her mouth as she tried to control her emotions. Charlie rarely went to strangers, and yet there he was, not even glancing around to see if she was nearby, happily taking chocolate from the giant whose white teeth shone in his filthy face. Had her son recognised on some subconscious level that Toby was his father?

  Even if he hadn’t, why wouldn’t he trust Toby? Not only had the guy saved his life, he’d also gone on to rescue Bear. He was an old-fashioned hero, a white knight on a charger. The thought warmed her right through.

  It also filled her with panic.

  She stood as they came back, and took Charlie from Toby’s arms, even though both of them looked quite comfortable together. Charlie squirmed, but she tightened her arm around him, and he sagged against her. “Thank you,” she said formally to Toby.

  He nodded. “Are you going home now?”

  “That might be difficult.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated, wishing she hadn’t said anything. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your concern.”

  He frowned. “What’s happened?”

  “There was some damage,” she said reluctantly.

  “Some?”

  She said nothing.

  He walked out into the early evening sunshine, stopped and beckoned with his head. “Show me.”

  She went because she didn’t have the energy to argue with him, and because she didn’t know what she was going to do. They walked silently along the road, weaving amongst the bricks and piles of rubble. Charlie sucked quietly on chocolate buttons as they walked, his hands soon a mess of melted chocolate and dust, but she was too tired to say anything and let him grab her top with his sticky fingers.

  As they walked, Toby took out his mobile phone. “I’d better let my mother know I’m okay,” he said, pressing buttons. But after a moment or two he sighed and tucked it back into his pocket. “I guess the system’s overloaded with everyone trying to call—I can’t get through.”

  “Maybe give it half an hour.”

  “Yeah.” They turned the corner, and Toby gasped. “Jeez.”

  She pointed along the road, past where a huge crack had appeared, to a collapsed building at the end. “That’s my apartment.”

  It looked like a doll’s house, as if someone had come along and lifted off the front panel to look inside it. The wall facing the street had disintegrated into a pile of wood and bricks in the middle of the road. Broken pipes and cables moved in the breeze, as if the body of a creature had been slit open to expose its innards.

  “That was mine,” she said, indicating the top right room. She could just see Charlie’s broken cot and a heap of matchsticks that had been her wardrobe.

  “Fucking hell.”

  “Yeah.” She shivered, feeling like crying but refusing to give in to it.

  He shook his head. “So what are you going to do tonight?”

  “Don’t know. I lost my purse in the supermarket. But last year lots of people opened their houses to the homeless. I guess I’ll go back to the tent and see if someone can place us somewhere.”

  “Don’t you have family nearby?”

  “No.” She straightened her son’s soiled top. “Dad died while I was pregnant. It’s just me and Charlie now.”

  For a moment, Toby said nothing. He stared at the panes of glass and broken wood in the streets. Then he said, “Come and stay with me. I have a small apartment—if it’s still there.”

  She shook her head. “We’ll be okay. There’ll be somewhere we can—”

  For the first time, he frowned. “If you really want, I’ll find somewhere else to sleep. But you and Charlie need a shower and a bed, and I have both.”

  Charlie complained. She’d squeezed him too tightly. She loosened her grip, so tired she was almost asleep on her feet, but still protested, “I couldn’t. You’ve worked so hard. You need to rest and—”

  “Esther.” He put his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. I’m not having my son sleeping on the street. You’re coming with me.”

  My son. She bristled at Toby’s words, wanting to tell him that Charlie had had nobody but her since he was born—he didn’t need a father waltzing in and trying to shoehorn his way into their lives. She’d managed perfectly well for two and a half years and she could cope with this on her own.

  But she bit her lip. Charlie was his son. There was no denying it. Maybe if she’d lied outright from the beginning and told him he wasn’t the father, she would have been able to tell him to get lost. But she hadn’t, so for better or for worse, Charlie’s father was now in the picture and legally Toby had a say in her son’s welfare.

  Part of her was nervous about the inevitable conversation they would have, about why she hadn’t told him he had a child. When he’d asked if Charlie was his and she’d said yes, she’d waited for some sign of emotion—bad or good—but none had been forthcoming. Was he angry? She didn’t know him well enough to tell. In the two weeks they’d spent together, he’d come across as placid and playful, and she’d seen no sign of anything approaching a temper, but then there hadn’t been a situation that had called for it.

  Either way, he deserved to know the truth and to spend some time with his son. She sighed. “All right.” It came out grudgingly, and she winced as he frowned again. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted and that wasn’t fair. Thank you for offering.”

  “No worries.” He gave her a half smile. “I’m glad you waited for me.”

  She couldn’t think of anything to say to that
. Her insides tangled with varying emotions. She suspected she was in shock. A strong cup of coffee, something to eat, a shower and a good night’s sleep would help set her right. Then, maybe, she’d be able to deal with the physical and emotional upheavals she’d had that day.

  Chapter Three

  Relief swept through Toby that Esther had finally agreed to stay at his place. While helping survivors in the supermarket, he’d wondered whether she would decide not to wait for him. He still wasn’t sure how to deal with the unexpected news he’d received that day, but either way, he had to face up to it rather than look the other way. “Come on then,” he instructed her, turning to walk along the street.

  She fell into step beside him. “Where do you live?”

  “Not too far.” He noticed she was limping. “Are you okay to walk? Did you hurt your leg?”

  “I fell awkwardly and bruised my hip. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.”

  She didn’t look fine. She looked in pain, but he knew she wouldn’t accept any help. He’d learned in the small amount of time they’d spent together three years before that she was fiercely independent.

  Unless they were in the bedroom. Where sex was concerned, she’d shown a surprising penchant for being dominated. His lips curved at the memory of the first time he’d realised that in spite of her feisty nature in everyday life, nothing turned her on more than when he took control in bed.

  They’d returned to his room one evening, slightly drunk after sharing a bottle of champagne, and had gone out onto the balcony to look at the view of the ocean. He only had eyes for her, though, and stood behind her, kissing her neck, his hands wandering over her body. She laughed as he unbuttoned her shirt, and although she protested somebody might see them, her protests weren’t vehement enough to make him think she minded that much.

  Until a couple out on an evening walk appeared on the beach.

  Esther exclaimed and, still giggling, tried to push him away, but she was braless beneath the shirt. The sight of the moonlight on her skin fired his blood, and lust swept over him. They hadn’t yet turned on any lights in the bedroom, and he knew they would be difficult to see from the beach.

  He caught her shirt and tugged it down her back, locking her arms by her sides and baring her breasts to the moonlight. She gasped as he pinned her from behind against the balcony and slid a hand between them to push up her skirt and slide down his zipper. “Toby!” Her eyes were wide as she looked at him over their shoulder.

  He hesitated, not wanting to misread the signs. “You want me to stop?” He wrapped an arm around her breasts and kissed her shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to take it too far.

  She moistened her lips and met his gaze for a moment. To his surprise and delight, her eyes lit with excitement and she gave a little shake of her head. Heart racing, he dropped his arm and went on to take her there and then, in full view of anyone who might have cared to look up at them, although luckily there had been no more walkers on the beach. And she’d loved it, so much so that they’d spent the remainder of their holiday exploring variations on that theme. It had been the most fun he’d had in years.

  He risked a glance at her. Almost every day since they’d parted, he’d thought about her and wondered what she was doing. He knew some of it now. Having his son, alone. She was aware roughly what area he lived in, what job he did. Had she tried to find him at all?

  Although darkness was falling, the streets heaved with people, from emergency services trying to keep everyone safe to volunteers handing out blankets and food and finding places for the homeless to stay. Twice someone offered them a room in their house, but each time Toby turned them down kindly, and they plodded on, growing more tired with each step. Thank God it was late February, the height of summer. Going through all this in the depths of winter would have made everything twice as hard.

  Her pace grew slower, and once she stumbled and Charlie cried at being jolted out of his doze. Without another word, Toby took a blanket from an aid worker and lifted Charlie out of Esther’s arms. She protested, but he ignored her, wrapping the boy up and keeping him tight to his chest. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she walked on, but she didn’t argue any further. Taking that as a victory, he led the way, trying not to notice that his son’s hair smelled of baby shampoo, in spite of the fact that dust had settled on it in a thick layer.

  When they reached the line of apartments, he sighed with relief to find them still standing. The place heaved, most people opening their rooms to others who had nowhere to stay.

  He led her up the stairs to his apartment and opened the door. She walked into the living room and stood in the centre, looking around in a daze. He locked the door behind them, still holding Charlie, who’d now roused.

  “Quick shower,” he instructed, “just to get the worst off.” He went into the bedroom, and Esther followed him and sat on the bed. After walking through to the adjoining bathroom, he turned on the shower. “We’re going to clean you up, boyo,” he told Charlie.

  “I stink,” Charlie said. “Pooh!”

  Toby smiled. “Just like your Bear.”

  “Yes.” Charlie giggled. “You stink too.”

  “I do, thank you for pointing that out.”

  “What’s your name?” The boy looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

  Toby swallowed. Too early to admit to Daddy. Besides which, he wasn’t sure what Esther would say about him telling Charlie the truth before she got a chance to.

  “Toby,” he said.

  Charlie’s face lit up. “Like in Thomas Tank!”

  “That’s right.” Toby tested the water. It was supposed to be cool for kids, wasn’t it? Something about sticking your elbow in it, he seemed to recall. He bent his arm and let the water run over it, surprised to find it warmer there than on his hand, and turned the dial to make it cooler. “He’s number seven, if I remember correctly.”

  “Yes.” Charlie seemed delighted that Toby knew what he was talking about. “And he has two coaches, Henr’etta and Victor’a.”

  “You’ve got a good memory.”

  “I can count up to umpteen,” Charlie stated.

  “Wow, that’s ten more than me. You are clever.” Toby went back into the bedroom, saying, “Shower’s ready,” only to stop at the sight of Esther lying on the bed, fast asleep.

  They both stared at her thoughtfully. Toby’s gaze lingered for a moment on her small form. Her beauty was obvious even beneath the dust, her curves evident beneath her grimy clothes. Her pants emphasised her tight butt and slender thighs. He could remember those legs wrapped around him, her back arching as he plunged into her.

  He sighed and returned to the bathroom.

  “Mummy’s asleep,” Charlie observed.

  “Yep. She’s tired,” Toby said, wondering why he’d been left with the baby when he was the one who’d spent hours rescuing people out of the supermarket.

  He studied the shower. Would it be weird if he got in with the boy? Would Esther report him to child services for being a pervert?

  “Fuck it,” he said out loud. “You’re filthy, and if you get in by yourself you’ll probably fall over.”

  “You said fuck.”

  “Yes, thank you Mr. Observant. Clothes off.” He stripped and then tried to remove Charlie’s tiny T-shirt.

  “Ow. My ear’s stuck.”

  “Sorry.” It wasn’t as easy as it looked. He’d had remarkably little practice at dealing with kids. Oh, he’d played cars and trains and chased his niece and nephew around the garden, watched children’s TV shows with them and read them bedtime stories, but he’d always managed to hand them back to their parents when feeding or clothing issues arose.

  Finally, however, they were both naked. Leaving Bear watching them on the sink, Toby got in, sat on the floor of the shower cabinet and helped the boy in. Charlie sat in front, facing him. “Here.” He gave Charlie the sponge to play with and squirted some shower gel onto it. “Scrub, scrub.”

  “You scr
ub too. You’re filthy.” Clearly, his mother used the word to describe him a lot.

  “You’re filthier than me.” He put a small amount of shampoo onto the boy’s curly hair and massaged it in.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not!” Charlie beamed, delighted at the argument.

  Toby smiled and rinsed the shampoo carefully, keeping it out of the boy’s eyes as much as he could. He suddenly realised the curly hair—like the brown eyes—matched his own, although the blond locks hadn’t yet darkened. This was his son. He caught his breath. He and Esther had made this little person. How amazing was that?

  “You’ve got a big willy,” Charlie observed. “It’s bigger than mine.” He studied his own offering.

  “Size isn’t everything, dude, or so they’d have us believe.” Toby took the sponge and cleaned the rest of the dust and grime from him. Had Esther dated many men since she’d had Charlie? Somehow, he thought not. And her dad had died. She’d told him in Fiji that her mother had died a few years before, and her father had taken it hard. It must have been difficult for her, bringing up the kid on her own.

  “Mummy hasn’t got one.”

  Toby chuckled. “No, that’s true.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, good grief.” He’d known the kid half a day and he was giving him the facts of life. “Can you wash my hair for me?” He squirted shampoo onto it and offered it to his son.

  Charlie spent a few minutes clutching his fingers in and tugging at Toby’s hair, and then Toby rinsed them both and turned the shower off. He got out, dried himself quickly and pulled on his bathrobe, then got the boy out and towelled him off. Only then did he realise he didn’t have anything for Charlie to wear. “I don’t have any boy’s clothes,” he admitted. “Can you go to sleep like that?”

  “In my birthday suit,” Charlie said.

  Toby laughed. He had a vivid image of Esther prancing around his room in Fiji, suggesting that when they went out that night, she wear her birthday suit. “Okay. What about a nappy, do you wear one at night?”