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Oh, please. Why does it even matter if he knew? He would never, ever act on it. Lukas Blackstone dates supermodels and A-list actresses—he’s not interested in you. And, even if he were, sex isn’t even on your radar. You’ve got less experience than Snow White for a very good reason. Nico is all that matters at the moment. All that has ever mattered.
And, even if he wasn’t, Lukas Blackstone was not someone she would ever consider dating, if she did date. Which she didn’t. The women in her family had a bad habit of becoming emotionally besieged by overpowering and emotionally unavailable men. Her mum had done it and so had Darcy. She was not about to follow suit just because of a ridiculous physical reaction which had probably been brought on by fatigue and all her recent emotional upheavals.
Giving in to that split-second urge to jump Lukas Blackstone was not who she was. She was better than that, stronger than that.
She climbed under the ten thousand thread-count sheets, trying to switch her mind off the subject of Lukas and back on to the much more important business of Nico and the weeks ahead. She should be focused on tomorrow and the results of Lukas’s blood tests. The operation that would hopefully follow and Nikky’s recovery. Lukas Blackstone and that daft little frisson between them was just a distraction.
But even worse, she realised, had been that even more idiotic moment when he’d insisted on hiring a nanny for her, and she’d actually believed—for a second—that he cared about her welfare as well as Nikky’s.
Why would he? And why would you even want him to?
She breathed in the scent of freshly laundered linen and new paint as her gaze roamed over the immaculately furnished room, and found the open door to the adjoining suite.
She spotted the corner of Nikky’s bed—the bed he would be sleeping in soon, if the treatment worked. Her breathing evened out. At least a little.
Just keep your eyes on the prize. And that prize is seeing Nico well and happy again. Helping him to handle his newfound status as the Blackstone heir. And making this palace a home, somehow.
But as her tired mind finally drifted into sleep it wasn’t Nico’s face she saw, but Lukas’s. The jagged scar on his cheek tensed with barely leashed control.
The potent hunger in his dark eyes made her whole body yearn for things—scary things—she had no experience of. But far worse was the echo of longing which she’d thought she’d destroyed years ago, when she’d stood on her father’s doorstep and willed him to look at her—and he never had.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS THE NEXT few days and weeks unfolded, Bronte adapted to the staggering change in her and Nikky’s circumstances with more ease than expected—because all her energies were focused on his treatment.
The morning after she had arrived at their new home she received the longed-for call from Dr Patel to confirm that Lukas was the partial match they needed for the experimental treatment. The following days spun past in a whirlwind of activity at the hospital, punctuated by long agonising waits, as Nico was prepped for surgery, given the life-altering graft of new bone marrow and then moved to an isolation chamber for his recovery.
Maureen and Lisa, the new team of bodyguards and the impressive support team Lukas had put in place handled all the niggling details of everyday life as Bronte devoted herself to being there for Nico.
She left the house early each morning in a chauffeur-driven car, was hustled through the phalanx of reporters and paparazzi who hadn’t been put off by Lukas’s press conference, and returned late each night—exhausted but ever more hopeful as each day passed.
Nico did his bit, responding wonderfully to the treatment. A few weeks after the operation he was already well enough to have a few carefully vetted visitors. Maureen, the staff from his old nursery school, Manny and the bouncer from the Firelite Club where she used to work. Even Lisa and some of the new staff at the house popped in to see him.
The only person who never appeared was Lukas.
At first, Bronte had been pathetically grateful he had kept his distance—the myriad confusing, conflicting and disturbing emotions he inspired not something she wanted to deal with. But as Nico recovered in leaps and bounds she began to feel less relieved at Lukas’s continued absence from their lives.
Because Nico asked about his uncle constantly. The little boy had obviously latched on to Lukas, despite the tycoon’s one perfunctory five-minute interaction with him.
As the weeks turned to months and Nico became well enough to return to his new home, Bronte’s relief at Lukas’s absence turned to guilt and concern.
In the two press conferences he’d given to control the media furore—in the early days before and then the weeks after Nico’s operation—Lukas hadn’t even mentioned his part in the boy’s treatment and recovery.
Bronte had tried to contact him several times, to thank him for the bone marrow donation and update him on Nico’s progress during his recovery, but Lisa, who had been assigned the job of being Bronte’s point of contact with Lukas, hadn’t been able to get him to respond in person to any of Bronte’s news or enquiries.
She supposed she’d agreed to that too, that day in the waiting room, but she wasn’t convinced Lukas’s absence was the best thing for Nico any more as time passed. Eventually, Nico would wonder why Lukas never came to visit him. And she didn’t want him to feel unwanted or inadequate, the way she had been made to feel by her own father’s rejection.
Lukas Blackstone was Nico’s uncle—and Nico’s only connection to the man who had sired him—which meant, as far as Bronte was concerned, he was going to have to make more of an effort. Or Nico would suffer.
She was pondering the increasingly intransigent problem of Nico’s absentee uncle one bright autumnal afternoon, nearly two months after the little boy had left hospital, as she watched Maureen show Nico how to make her famous sugar cookies, when the buzz of the kitchen phone snapped her out of her thoughts.
‘Bronte, it’s Dr Patel. I’ve just got Nico’s latest lab results back and it’s great news.’
Bronte’s stomach lifted into her throat. ‘Yes?’
‘He’s in complete remission.’
The words reverberated in her skull, bouncing around like teenagers at a rave. Bronte sat down heavily in the chair by the phone. ‘That’s wonderful—what does that mean?’ she added as she sent a thumbs-up to Maureen, who was watching her encouragingly.
