Liam's Secret Son. Кэрол Мортимер
on the pavement watching the car, and her, until they turned out of sight down a side road.
Which was when Laura finally felt able to sit back in her seat and let some of the tension flow out of her.
She had known it wasn’t a good idea to meet up with Liam again—had only given in because at the time she had felt it was preferable to having him seek her out. But the fact of the matter was that at some time in the near future Liam would have to know exactly who and what she was. And after spending the last hour in his company she wished she had simply waited for that to happen.
Anything would have been preferable to the last hour. To that kiss…!
She tentatively ran the tip of her tongue over the sensitivity of her lips, still able to feel the pressure of Liam’s mouth there, a slight tingling sensation that seemed almost to numb her lips.
How could he still affect her in that way? After all that had happened, all the pain, the disillusionment, how could she still feel this way?
What way did she feel?
Confused. Disorientated. Angry with herself. Angry with Liam. All of which was completely unproductive, when she needed to be focused, controlled, sure of herself.
The next time she saw Liam, she promised herself as she saw her journey was almost at an end, she would be exactly that!
The lights were on in the house when she let herself in a few minutes later and went straight to the kitchen, where she knew Amy Faulkner, her housekeeper, would be sitting drinking tea and watching television while she waited for Laura to return home.
Short, plump and homely, aged in her mid-fifties, Amy had been Robert’s housekeeper for almost twenty years when he and Laura were married. The older woman had welcomed Laura into the house as if she were the daughter she’d never had, and the two of them had got on from the beginning. Laura had been more than grateful for the other woman’s presence this last couple of years.
The housekeeper smiled at her warmly now as she stood up to turn down the sound on the predicted television programme. ‘Had a good evening, Mrs Shipley?’
Good? That wasn’t quite the way Laura would have chosen to describe it!
‘It was just business, Amy,’ she responded. ‘How’s everything been here?’
The older woman smiled. ‘Wonderful. He’s been fast asleep since before you went out. Not a sound out of him.’
Laura nodded distractedly. ‘I think I’ll just pop upstairs and check on him before going to bed myself. Thanks for taking over at such short notice this evening, Amy.’ She smiled her gratitude.
‘Any time, Laura. You know that,’ the other woman told her gently. ‘I know it can’t be easy for you. And he’s absolutely fine with me, you know.’
‘I do know.’ She squeezed Amy’s arm gratefully. ‘But thank you anyway.’
She made sure she was as quiet as possible going up the stairs, not wanting to wake him, moving with sure steps to the bedroom that adjoined her own.
A nightlight gave a warm glow to the room, allowing Laura to find her way without bumping into or stepping on anything to the rocking-chair that stood beside the bed.
She sat down in the rocking-chair, tears of love welling up in her eyes as she looked down at the sleeping figure in the bed.
Only his head and shoulders were actually visible above the bedcovers, the shoulders narrow, the mouth slightly open in sleep. Dark lashes fanned out over cheeks that glowed pale in the half-light, the hair dark and softly curling against the pillow.
Robert Shipley.
Junior, she inwardly added warmly. He always insisted on the ‘Junior.’
But to all who loved him he was Bobby.
Seven years old. Black-haired. Blue-eyed. Mischievous. With a bright enquiring mind.
He was the absolute love of Laura’s life…
He was also the reason that her private life had to be kept strictly that, where Liam O’Reilly was concerned.
Because Mary O’Reilly, Liam’s mother, although in complete ignorance of the fact, already had her much-wanted grandson.
Except his name wasn’t O’Reilly. And it never would be.
Even though Bobby was undoubtedly Liam O’Reilly’s son…
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