Chapter Twelve
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, Sylvie sat by Natasha’s delivery bed, holding the newborn Hamish Andrew in her arms. His tiny face was red and a bit scrunched up like a grumpy old man, but he was sound asleep and Sylvie marvelled at the miracle of birth.
She had seen births on television but never in real time, in the delivery suite.
The overwhelming emotions of it ambushed her and she found herself crying with a combination of joy, relief, happiness and a teensy-weensy bit of envy.
The envy aspect shocked her for she had not pictured herself as a mother, but holding this precious newborn in her arms and witnessing the love and pride of his parents, Natasha and Mariah, made her wonder if she had masked her maternal yearnings instead of owning them. Well, she was owning them now.
Hamish had a crop of reddish-brown hair but Sylvie began to imagine what Jack’s baby would look like.
Would it have a shock of ink-black hair like him and those amazing ice-blue eyes, or would the baby favour her?
She had to pull herself away from her musings with an effort.
She was being a romantic fool for thinking about a future with Jack Wilde.
She was not the romantic type. She didn’t trust the fairy tale would deliver on its promise of a happy ending.
She was a divorce lawyer; she knew the stats.
She witnessed daily the fallout, the fights and fury, the devastation of people’s lives who had once loved one another.
She had lived experience of it with her own parents’ divorce.
Why, then, was she allowing herself to think of a happy ever after with Jack Wilde of all people?
Because Jack had done what she thought no one could do—make her fall in love.
This was no passing crush or infatuation.
This was not a casual fling—or at least not for her.
This was the life-changing real deal. Her heart was full of love for Jack.
How had he got through her armour? Her defences?
She had built walls around her heart for as long as she could remember but Jack had melted them away the first time he’d held her in his arms at the masked ball.
Something had changed in that moment. Something irreversible.
How could she have not realised it until now?
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Mariah said, still wiping at her own eyes after helping her partner through a fast and painful labour.
‘He’s divine,’ Sylvie said, smiling down at the baby in her arms. ‘But I’d better give him back to you before I get any crazy ideas.
’ Like becoming Jack’s bride. Having his baby.
Living a life of forever love with him. Crazy ideas she had no business thinking about because Jack wasn’t a forever-love guy.
Mariah carefully took her son from Sylvie’s arms and crooned to him, rocking him from side to side, the look on her face one of complete and utter devotion. The same love and devotion on Natasha’s face in spite of her physical exhaustion.
Yep, Sylvie was envious and confused and angry with herself for getting mixed up with Jack Wilde in the first place.
But how could she give him up? He hadn’t mentioned anything about a timeline on their fling and nor had she.
So far, only her mother and Patrick knew about their involvement, and of course Natasha and Mariah had guessed something was going on at their baby shower, but how long could Jack and Sylvie hope to keep it a secret from everyone else? What lengths would they have to go to?
Surely Jack would tire of it and move on.
She was surprised he hadn’t already done so.
According to the tabloids, he normally didn’t stay with a lover more than a day or two.
But the Jack Wilde profiled in the tabloids was not the Jack Wilde she had fallen in love with in private.
There was so much about Jack the public didn’t know, and Sylvie was still finding out things about him and wanted to keep doing that—growing closer to him like she was doing with Shadow the stray cat, establishing a bond of trust.
After dropping Sylvie at the hospital, Jack drove home but he couldn’t settle. Sleep was impossible. The evening felt unfinished, incomplete, left hanging…
He had expected to spend the night with Sylvie.
He wanted to recreate the intimacy they had shared in Paris.
He even called it the Paris Bubble. It was where they could both be themselves, not looking over their shoulder for the paparazzi to snap them together, not worrying about their clients thinking they were compromising their case.
Their time in Paris had strengthened his desire for her rather than dialled it down.
He found himself thinking of her more than he thought of anything or anyone.
He was becoming obsessed with her. He ached for her with every cell in his body, a hot burning desire he knew would only be satisfied by being with her.
He wanted to feel her come apart in his arms. He loved the feel of her skin against his own.
He longed to trail his fingers through the chestnut silk of her hair, to feel it tickle his skin as she draped herself over his naked body.
He shuddered with the erotic memory of their passionate encounters.
Was it the secrecy of their fling that was making him so obsessed with her?
Was it the element of danger, the thrill of keeping their fling out of the public eye?
He had never felt this way about a woman before.
He wanted her like a drug. He was addicted to her touch, to the sound of her voice, to her tinkling bell laugh, her whip-quick wit and her soft brown eyes that melted the hardest core of him.
Jack opened his bifold doors and looked out over his yet-to-be-landscaped garden.
After all the tradespeople and their equipment, his backyard was little more than a large square of mud apart from a lone Japanese maple tree.
His chat with Patrick had been helpful and he was looking forward to having the garden completed.
He watched out for Sylvie’s little cat just as he did every day.
The food he had put out earlier had been eaten but there was no sign of Shadow.
Jack pushed aside the feelings of loneliness. He wasn’t a lonely person. He never allowed himself to be. He kept busy. He worked and played hard. He had projects on the go that needed his attention. There were any number of mates he could call, even at this hour if he wanted company.
But the only company he wanted was Sylvie’s.
He sat watching her house for hours but she didn’t come home.
He knew enough about labour from his mate Ben to know it wasn’t a predictable affair, so Sylvie might not come home for ages yet or may even spend the night at the hospital with her friends.
He fought down the desire to call or text her.
He didn’t want to interrupt what was one of the most significant events in her friends’ lives.
Once it got to three in the morning, he decided to go to bed but sleep was frustratingly elusive.
He closed his eyes but all he could see in his mind was Sylvie smiling at something he’d said earlier in the evening.
He loved the way her soft mouth lifted up at the corners and the shine in her eyes when she met his gaze.
Jack thumped his pillow and turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
Why had he let this madness continue so long?
He was wading into territory he had never ventured into before.
The feelings territory. The territory he had cordoned off when he was a child after the loss of his parents.
He had armoured up, frozen his shattered heart and soldiered on to survive.
He was not going to open that vault for anyone.
Sylvie arrived at work the following morning feeling a little sleep-deprived but glad she had been able to support her friends and colleagues through such an important time.
Her secretary Samira looked up from her computer and after a quick chat about how gorgeous Hamish Andrew was, and after seeing Sylvie’s photos on her phone, informed her Edwina Winters had booked an appointment with her at nine thirty that morning.
‘She said it was urgent so I moved Nola Clarke to this afternoon. You had a gap for admin anyway.’
Sylvie tried not to show her frustration.
Her two-hour admin gap was a way to catch up on client work so she didn’t have to take so much paperwork home.
There was never enough time to keep ahead of the paperwork in complicated cases but she always did her best. ‘Okay. I’ll see her but we might have to be a little firmer with her in future.
I can’t be flexible for her and not for anyone else. ’
‘I know,’ Samira said with an apologetic look. ‘But she’s hard to say no to.’
‘Yeah, and she’s not the only one,’ Sylvie muttered, and turned towards her office.
Sylvie had barely finished her coffee before Edwina Winters arrived, pushing open the office door and then closing it with a snap that made Sylvie stiffen in her chair.
Edwina’s eyes were like two burning lamps and her normally pale complexion was pink with rage. ‘I saw you last night,’ she said through tight lips. ‘I was at the hospital with Mimi. She needed stitches this time.’
Sylvie frowned in concern. ‘Is she all right?’
‘Yes, but that’s not why I’m here.’
An icy shiver worked its way down the length of Sylvie’s spine. ‘Then why are you here?’
‘I saw you with Jack Wilde.’ Edwina’s voice vibrated and her eyes flashed with venom. ‘I saw him kiss you when he dropped you at the hospital. How could you do this to me? He’s Hugo’s lawyer and you’ve betrayed my trust by sleeping with the enemy.’