“Why are you moving, Mardi? Bitter memories?” Cain asked.

Mardi shrugged. Bitter memories? Yes…she still felt bitter that her husband had left his family so badly in debt, and equally bitter—more bitter than heartbroken—about his affair with Cain’s wife.

“Look, I’m here because of Benjamin, my son,” Cain said. “Keeping Ben away from Nicky hasn’t worked out. There’s a week left before school starts. If we allow the boys to see each other, a week should be long enough, hopefully, for them to get over their obsession with each other….”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“You’re being very hard on the boys….” he argued.

She reluctantly agreed. But it wasn’t the memories she was worried about. It had more to do with her obsessions—hers with a tall, handsome, potently attractive man with cobalt eyes named Cain Templar!

Dear Reader,

Summer’s finally here! Whether you’ll be lounging poolside, at the beach, or simply in your home this season, we have great reads packed with everything you enjoy from Silhouette Romance—tenderness, emotion, fun and, of course, heart-pounding romance—plus some very special surprises.

First, don’t miss the exciting conclusion to the thrilling ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR miniseries with Cathie Linz’s A Prince at Last! Then be swept off your feet—just like the heroine herself!—in Hayley Gardner’s Kidnapping His Bride.

Romance favorite Raye Morgan is back with A Little Moonlighting, about a tycoon set way off track by his beguiling associate who wants a family to call her own. And in Debrah Morris’s That Maddening Man, can a traffic-stopping smile convince a career woman—and single mom—to slow down…?

Then laugh, cry and fall in love all over again with two incredibly tender love stories. Vivienne Wallington’s Kindergarten Cupids is a very different, highly emotional story about scandal, survival and second chances. Then dive right into Jackie Braun’s True Love, Inc., about a professional matchmaker who’s challenged to find her very sexy, very cynical client his perfect woman. Can she convince him that she already has?

Here’s to a wonderful, relaxing summer filled with happiness and romance. See you next month with more fun-in-the-sun selections.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Kindergarten Cupids
Vivienne Wallington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Books by Vivienne Wallington

Silhouette Romance

Claiming His Bride #1515

Kindergarten Cupids #1596

VIVIENNE WALLINGTON

is an Australian living in Melbourne, Victoria, in an area with lots of trees, birds and parkland. She has been happily married to John, her real-life hero, for over forty years and they have a married son and daughter and five grandchildren who provide inspiration for her books. Vivienne worked as a librarian for many years, but was always writing, as well, eventually having a children’s book published. After two more years, she gave up writing for children to concentrate on romance. She has written nineteen Mills & Boon Romance titles under the pseudonym Elizabeth Duke, and is now writing for Silhouette under her real name. Her favorite hobbies are reading, research, family and travel.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Watching from the kitchen as her son, Nicky, romped on the back lawn with Scoots, his beloved black Labrador, Mardi Sinclair wondered how she could bear to take her son away from the home and the rambling garden he’d come to love. But she had no choice. The house was sold now, and she had a month to find another place to live—a smaller place in a less expensive area. A house or flat that she could rent, not buy.

But with a five-year-old son, an ailing grandfather and a large, exuberant dog, it wasn’t proving easy.

She caught her breath as she saw her son’s purple-framed glasses go flying as he rolled on the grass with Scoots. Oh, no, please, no, not another pair of broken glasses!

Mardi rushed outside.

But Nicky was already pulling them back on. “They’re not broken, Mummy.” He shot her a triumphant grin as he patted his glasses back into place. He’d hated wearing them at first, but he’d grown used to them, and now wore them with pride.

And Mardi was proud of her brave son. She loved him to pieces. His astigmatism had improved already, and in a few years, if the eye specialist was right, he would be able to throw away his glasses. Perhaps, soon, his infected tonsils would be history, too.

She caught him in her arms and hugged him tight. “That’s good, darling. That’s great.”

“Mummy…” Nicky looked up at her with beseeching gray eyes, the sunlight glinting on his grass-smudged lenses. “Can we ask Ben over to play tomorrow?”

Mardi’s heart wrenched. She’d lost count of the times Nicky had asked about his friend Benjamin Templar since his father had died and the kindergarten had broken up for the long summer holidays. She’d made excuses to him each time. She did so again.

“We have to look for a new home, darling.” She’d tried to explain to him that they couldn’t afford such a big house or garden anymore, now that Daddy had gone to heaven, but it was hard for a five-year-old to understand. “We’ll try to find a house near a nice park or a playground, where you and Scoots can run around.” They were unlikely to have a spacious lawn or even a garden at their new place.

“Can Ben come to the park with us?” Nicky asked.

Mardi sighed. Ben, always Ben. Since the day he’d started at St. Mark’s kindergarten, when they moved into their new home last August, the two boys had been inseparable. Ben, the older by three months and quite a bit taller, had taken on a protective role, shielding Nicky from any taunts and teasing by the other children. And Nicky’s quick mind and easygoing manner had often saved Ben from trouble, drawing the boys closer and cementing their friendship. They’d been looking forward to starting school together this year. Who would look out for her son when he moved to another school?

“Look, why don’t you go and ask Grandpa to have a game of snakes and ladders with you before dinner?” Diversion, Mardi had found, often did the trick in taking Nicky’s mind off Benjamin Templar.

“Grandpa’s having a snooze.”

“Well, it’s time you came in and had a bath anyway,” she said, and frowned as the front doorbell rang. “Oh, heck, who could that be at this hour?” Not the estate agent, she hoped. What a time to want to discuss houses for rent, just as her carrot cake and cottage pie were due to come out of the oven. “Keep an eye on Scoots, Nicky. I’ll just run and see.”

Instead of going back inside to answer the door, she sprinted around the side of the attractive Federation-style house—the house they’d been in for less than six months and now had to leave—and bounded up the steps to the front veranda.

She faltered. It wasn’t the balding estate agent standing at her front door. It was a tall, dark-haired stranger in a beautifully cut business suit.

As he turned to face her, revealing a pair of intensely blue eyes in a strong, square-jawed face, she pulled up short, shock momentarily paralyzing her.

It was him. The man she’d almost collided with at the kindergarten a few months ago—another parent, she’d assumed, who’d already dropped off his child. How could she ever forget those eyes, that face? Or her own humiliating reaction?

As he’d stepped aside, their eyes had clashed, and in that heart-stopping second she’d felt a jolt of sexual awareness that had shocked her, an electrifying sensation she’d never felt before, not even in her happier days with Darrell.

Her face flamed at the embarrassing memory.

And now here he was again, at her home. She gulped hard, hardly able to believe her eyes. He looked just the same as she remembered him from that unforgettable morning, just as riveting with those compelling blue eyes, the slashing black brows, the firm sensual mouth and the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. And just as sexy and stylish in another superb designer suit.

As her heart fluttered—what was he doing here?—her mind raced ahead, seeking answers. Again he had no child with him. Maybe he wasn’t a kindergarten parent after all, but one of St Mark’s teachers. Not at the kindergarten—she knew all the teachers there—but at the adjoining primary school, where Nicky was to have started school in a weeks’ time.

She hadn’t told the school yet that she’d sold her house and would be moving away from this area, possibly too far away to keep Nicky on at St. Mark’s.

The bitter truth was, she couldn’t afford to keep her son at a private school. She would have to send Nicky to a state school this year, in whatever suburb they moved to. And she’d have to find full-time work for herself—they couldn’t manage on what she’d been earning last year, working two days a week in the office of a girls’ school, or doing the menial jobs she’d managed to scrounge during the holidays.

“Mrs. Sinclair?” His voice cut the silence.

Mardi swallowed again, wishing she didn’t feel so hot and flustered after her unladylike sprint round the house, or so messy, in her flour-covered shorts and T-shirt. The flour was probably on her cheeks and in her hair, as well.

She nodded, trying to maintain her dignity. He’d shown no sign of recognizing her from their fleeting encounter last September. Hardly surprising, she reflected, since she’d been respectably clean and tidy then, and neatly dressed, ready for her part-time job.

“Mardi,” she said automatically, in a voice that wobbled slightly.

An imperceptible nod. It occurred to her that there was little warmth in the blue eyes, although his manner and tone of voice—he had a deep, pleasant voice, she noted—were courteous enough. Courteous, without being friendly. She had the distinct impression he was making an effort to be pleasant.

Surely a teacher at St. Mark’s would have a warmer, friendlier approach.

The firm lips moved again, uttering the last name in the world that she’d expected to hear, or would have wanted to hear.

“Cain Templar.” His strong jaw jutted a trifle. “I’m here because of my son, Benjamin.”

She stared. He was Benjamin Templar’s father? Nicky’s Ben, her son’s best friend at kindergarten? Or they had been best friends, before the tragedy that had struck both boys at the end of November, plucking them asunder, and uncovering the shocking revelations that had torn Mardi’s own world apart. They might have torn her heart apart, too, if her husband hadn’t already crushed any remaining feeling she’d had for him, wearing it away in subtle, souldestroying ways over the months leading up to his death.

Before either had a chance to say any more, Scoots burst up the steps onto the veranda ahead of Nicky, the powerful dog hurling himself at the stranger on his doorstep. But he wasn’t growling or snarling—oh, no, not Scoots. His tail was thrashing to and fro like a scythe as his great paws landed on Cain Templar’s shoulders, his moist pink tongue flicking deep wet kisses all over the man’s startled face.

Looking more exasperated than angry, the man frowned and stepped back. “Okay, okay, you can get down now!”

he rapped, a command that had no effect whatsoever on Scoots.

Mardi, on a wicked impulse, didn’t immediately come to the man’s rescue. “You don’t like dogs?” she asked sweetly, wondering if he was like her husband, Darrell, who’d only tolerated Scoots for Nicky’s sake.

“Well-behaved dogs,” he growled, trying to dodge Scoot’s flashing tongue. “Well-trained dogs. You’ve never thought of taking this undisciplined pooch to a training school?”

Mardi’s chin rose, her eyes glinting at the criticism. “I trained Scoots myself. He’ll settle down in a minute. He’s just checking you out.” She paused, adding in some surprise, “He must like you. He doesn’t jump up on everybody. He’d be growling if he didn’t like you.”

Cain Templar looked as if he’d prefer to be growled at than jumped on with dirty paws and a slobbering tongue.

Taking pity on him, Mardi belatedly pulled Scoots back away from him with a mildly scolding, “Down, Scoots, that’s enough! Nicky, take him round the back, will you, before he wrecks the gentleman’s fine suit.” She was careful not to mention her visitor’s name. “And shut the side gate after you.”

She felt a certain wicked satisfaction at the thought of Cain Templar’s suit being ruined. Maybe because it reminded her of Darrell’s expensive designer suits and his other wild extravagances. Extravagances that had left his widow and young son penniless and in crushing debt.

“I’m sure it will survive,” Cain Templar said dryly, brushing himself off.

And I’m sure you could afford to buy another one if it didn’t, Mardi reflected, and paused to wonder if he actually could afford to buy his fine Italian suits, or if he was another Darrell, living well beyond his means.

Of course he wasn’t. He was Cain Templar, the genuinely wealthy, highly successful merchant banker, whose glamorous wife, Sylvia, had been having an affair with her husband. And the Templars’ home, which Darrell, her insatiably ambitious, social-climbing lawyer husband, had visited often and gone into raptures about, but which she had never seen or been invited to, was a magnificent harborside mansion in one of Sydney’s most exclusive suburbs.

She turned away, watching Nicky and Scoots until they disappeared round the side of the house. How insensitive of this man to come here. His wife had ruined her life—ruined her son’s life!

Mardi glowered. If only she hadn’t fallen sick with the flu last September! Darrell had first met Sylvia Templar on the very morning he’d driven Nicky to kindergarten for the first time. Sylvia’s husband, she recalled Darrell mentioning at the time, had just left on a two-month overseas business trip. How convenient that had turned out to be!

From the moment he met her, Darrell had openly raved about “Benjamin’s beautiful mother,” and how she was the perfect corporate wife…an asset to her husband and a real help to his career as a merchant banker. “She’s an example to other wives,” he’d enthused in his typically insensitive fashion. “Always impeccably groomed, beautifully dressed, the perfect hostess, at ease in any company…And she knows everybody—everybody who matters, that is. You could learn a lot from her.”

Yeah…like how to play around with other women’s husbands.

Darrell had relentlessly encouraged his son’s friendship with Sylvia’s five-year-old son, Ben, inviting Benjamin to their home at weekends and allowing Nicky to visit their home in return.

Mardi had tried, for her son’s sake, to be friendly with Sylvia on the few occasions they’d met, either when Benjamin came to play, or on the rare evenings Darrell invited Sylvia to their home for a dinner party, along with Darrell’s successful, influential friends and business colleagues. But usually he’d preferred to dine out. Without his wife.

How naive and unsuspecting she’d been! Even when Darrell started giving Sylvia Templar so-called “legal advice,” which meant he had to see her more often still, for lunches or intimate dinners for two, or to attend Sylvia’s fund-raising events, Mardi still didn’t suspect—or she’d tried not to. She loathed jealousy and suspicion in wives, and with Sylvia’s husband away, it was understandable—or so she managed to convince herself—that Darrell, as the woman’s lawyer, would want to keep a close eye on her.

Looking back, it was painfully obvious that Darrell had fallen hook, line and sinker for Sylvia Templar’s glossy wealth, glamour and impeccable social connections—to say nothing of her luxurious home and lifestyle.

Mardi had been so gullible! She still had no idea when Darrell’s so-called “innocent relationship” with the beautiful Sylvia had changed into a fully fledged affair. She only knew that on the last Sunday in November, a couple of months after the two met, her husband and Cain Templar’s wife had died together in a car crash in the Blue Mountains on a night when Darrell was supposedly returning from a law-ethics weekend conference in the mountains.

The gleaming BMW that Darrell had bought only two months earlier, courtesy of a hefty bank loan, had been wrecked beyond repair.

Neither Mardi nor Benjamin Templar’s father had sent their sons back to the kindergarten for the final week of the term, or made any attempt to bring the boys together during the long summer break. Mardi, for her part, had wanted nothing more to do with the Templar family.

She’d assumed that Cain Templar had felt a similar disdain for her family. Maybe he’d wanted to keep away from them, but his son had finally worn him down, just as Nicky had been trying to do to her.

But to bring the boys together again now would be a ghastly mistake! She’d be moving away very soon, so why make it even more difficult for Nicky? For both boys?

Reluctantly she turned back. “You say you’re here because of Benjamin,” she said cautiously, frowning up at him.

“That’s right. My son—” He stopped, his head jerking toward the open window at the front of the house. “Can you smell something burning?”

“Oh, heck!” She spun round. “My cake! My pie!”

Chapter Two

Mardi groaned as she dumped the charred remains of her pie and cake on the sink. Tonight’s dinner ruined! She couldn’t afford disasters like this.

She rushed to the window and opened it, then began fanning the air with a tea towel.

“This is my fault,” Cain Templar apologized from behind, and she swung round, not realizing that he’d followed her to the kitchen.

“Well, yes, it is,” she agreed, in no mood for her usual politeness. What was she going to do about tonight’s dinner? “But there’s nothing much you can do about it.” She turned back to the sink. The pie was completely shriveled and dried out, but maybe she could cut off the charred edges of the cake and examine it to find out if the interior was still edible.

But she certainly wasn’t going to try that in front of Cain Templar! It would look ridiculously penny-pinching to someone with his millions. If it happened to him, he’d simply go out and buy another pie and another cake. At one time, she might have, too.

“Oh, there must be something I can do,” Cain said smoothly. “Look, I promised to take Benjamin to McDonald’s tonight…” He grimaced. “Not my own cup of tea, but he’s been nagging me for a burger for ages and I couldn’t keep fobbing him off and saying no. Why don’t you and your son join us?” he invited, though there was little emotion in his voice, as if he had no more wish to see more of the Sinclairs than Mardi did of the Templars.

“Ben talks about Nicky incessantly,” he added as she started to shake her head. “I gather they were close mates at kindergarten last term.”

Mardi sighed. “Yes, they were,” she said, stressing the past tense. “And thanks, Mr. Templar, but—”

“Cain,” he murmured coolly.

“Cain. Thanks, but there’s no need for you to take pity on us. It’s my own fault for not removing the pie and the cake from the oven earlier. And I really don’t think—” She stopped, waving a helpless hand. “Look, we can’t talk in here.” The smoke-filled air and the charred smell were making it impossible. “Let’s move to the front of the house.”

Nicky, hopefully, would stay out in the garden with Scoots until Cain Templar had gone. He need never know that the man who’d called had been his friend Ben’s father.

As they turned to leave the kitchen, her grandfather hobbled in, a gnarled hand curled round his walking stick.

“What’s burning?” he demanded in his thin, wavery voice.

“It’s just the pie and cake I was baking, Grandpa.” Just? She saw Grandpa frowning up at the tall dark man at her side and remembered her manners. “Oh…this is Cain Templar, Grandpa. He’s here to discuss a—a business matter.” Her eyes warned her visitor not to dispute her statement. She didn’t want Grandpa rushing out and blabbing to Nicky that the father of his beloved Ben was here.

With luck, Grandpa, who was getting a bit hard of hearing, wouldn’t have caught the name “Templar” or made the connection with Sylvia Templar—that Jezebel, as he called her. It would be too embarrassing if he launched into a savage tirade on man-hungry wives who ran off with other women’s husbands.

“My grandfather…Ernie Williams.” She was edging toward the passage as she spoke.

“How do you do, sir?” Cain started to extend a hand, and then, as if fearing the old man would let go of his stick and topple over, let it drop, giving a brief nod instead.

The old man gave a cackle of laughter. “Long time since anybody called me ‘sir.’ Doesn’t feel right. Call me Ernie.”

“Right. Ernie.”

Mardi sensed that Cain, well mannered as he was, would have no wish to hang around making polite conversation with her aging relative. Just as she had no wish to keep him here. “Grandpa,” she said gently, “would you mind running Nicky’s bath and calling him inside when it’s ready? And please be careful in the bathroom,” she warned. The last thing she needed was for Grandpa to fall and do even worse damage to his hip.

“Sure, love.” She felt his squinting gaze lingering on them as she ushered Cain Templar away. Grandpa still felt protective of her, as he’d been for most of her life. And since Darrell’s betrayal, he’d eyed all smart-suited businessmen with mistrust—though Cain Templar’s polite charm seemed to have disarmed him, at least for the time being.

She led Cain to the front lounge room and waved him in. The room was attractively furnished—Darrell had made sure of that—but the furniture didn’t belong to her, she’d discovered after the funeral, any more than the house did. Unknown to her, Darrell had never paid for any of it, and now the house and the new furniture were being repossessed.

The walls and shelves had already been stripped of the expensive oil paintings and decorative ornaments Darrell had insisted on buying—another sore subject—though she’d sold them for far less than he’d paid for them. Some hadn’t been paid for, and she’d been faced with the bill.

She didn’t invite Cain to sit down. That would be making him too welcome. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for Nicky and Ben to see each other again,” she said without preamble. “We’ll be leaving here in a couple of weeks—sooner, if I can find another place before then. Our house is already sold….” But the money had gone to the bank, not to her.

Cain narrowed his eyes as he looked down at her for a disconcertingly long moment. “Too many bitter memories?” he asked finally, a hint of his own bitterness evident in the twist of his mouth.

She shrugged. Let him think that was why she was selling up and moving away. It was close enough to the truth. The house did have bitter memories. Especially the queen-size bed in the main bedroom. Darrell had stopped making love to her about the time he’d started seeing Sylvia Templar. He’d made excuses about having to work late, or having to entertain business clients until late, pleading tiredness when he came to bed, if she happened to be still awake.

At first he’d made token apologies for leaving her alone so often, insisting he was doing it all for her—for her and Nicky. But as the weeks went on, he’d stopped seeming to care, becoming irritable and touchy, and finding fault with everything she did.

When he’d started comparing her openly with Sylvia Templar, she’d finally lost her patience—and her temper.

“If she’s so perfect, why don’t you go and live with her?”

He’d thrown up his hands in disgust. “Heaven help me, Mardi, sometimes I wish I could. At least she and I are on the same wavelength!”

Mardi had felt a coldness brush down her spine, the unpalatable truth hitting her—her husband had fallen in love with Sylvia Templar! Or with what she represented. Wealth, luxury, the best connections. “So I’m not good enough for you anymore?” she’d flung back, her self-esteem at an all-time low.

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Mardi, don’t be so suburban. You’re becoming such a nag and a bore. I don’t need these kind of hassles. I need a wife who’ll support me, not pull me down and hold me back.”

She felt as if he’d struck her. “When have I ever pulled you down or tried to hold you back? I’ve let you do whatever you want to make a success of your life. I’ve looked after the house and the garden, I’ve raised Nicky practically single-handedly, I’ve made most of our own clothes and I’ve taken on a part-time job to make ends meet. All this to give you the time and the space to become the successful lawyer you want to be.”

“You ungrateful witch! If it wasn’t for Nicky—” He’d stopped abruptly, glowering at her. “Oh, hell, I’m going out! A man can’t come home for peace and quiet anymore.”

It was two weeks later that he’d gone to the Blue Mountains for the so-called legal-ethics conference he’d never returned from, and amid the shock of his death, and the death of his female passenger, the truth of his double life had come out.

Bitter memories? Yes…she still felt bitter that her husband had left his family so badly in debt, and equally bitter—more bitter than heartbroken—about his affair with Sylvia Templar. But she also wondered if she could have been partly at fault herself, as Darrell had accused her. Had she driven him into Sylvia’s arms through not being supportive enough, not wanting the kind of high-flying life he’d wanted, not attending more social functions with him? But he hadn’t wanted her to. She hadn’t fit in, hadn’t “played the game.” The truth was, she hadn’t felt comfortable with his shallow, social-climbing, money-mad friends. They’d left her cold.

Maybe she should have tried harder to keep up with him. Her lip curled at the thought. To live beyond her means, as he’d lived beyond his? To lie and cheat and fool people into believing she was richer and more important than she was? To fawn on people she despised? No, she thought, recoiling. She would have been lowering herself, not lifting herself to her husband’s level. She would have been as bad as he was, as dishonest, as shallow. She refused to feel guilty about the way she’d handled her life.

But her confidence had been battered, as well as her trust in men. In husbands. In love. It would be a long time before she would ever trust another man. Or feel confident enough in herself to take the risk of trusting another man.

Her eyes clouded. How would she ever find peace of mind until her husband’s massive debts were paid off…until Nicky had his infected tonsils removed and was fit and healthy again…until Grandpa’s painful hip was replaced?

Cain Templar watched the changing expressions in Mardi’s long-lashed amber eyes and wondered if it was repressed anger he was seeing, or a deeply buried pain and heartbreak. It was hard to tell.

She was a surprise to him. He’d been half expecting Darrell Sinclair’s widow to be a mousy little thing with a whining voice and little personality—a downtrodden, wishy-washy woman who’d been completely under her unfaithful husband’s thumb. But there was a natural warmth and vibrancy about her, a spontaneous spring in her step, which even her husband’s betrayal and the shock of his death hadn’t managed to quench.

And he’d seen her before, he realized. He’d bumped into her at Ben’s kindergarten last September, on the morning he’d left for New York. He’d had no idea who she was then, or that the boy with her was Ben’s friend Nicky. Normally his wife or a babysitter had driven Ben to and from kindergarten each day, but on that particular day he’d had a late-morning plane to catch and had taken Ben to St. Mark’s himself.

He’d barely glanced at the woman at the gate—an ordinary, unremarkable woman, he’d thought in that first fleeting glimpse. And then his gaze had collided with hers, and the unusual amber color of her eyes, beneath her long golden lashes, had caught his attention for an unsettling instant, the morning sunlight turning her eyes to pure gold. Her soft brown hair, pulled back in a neat ponytail—far neater than it was now—had caught the sun, too, and gleamed with honeyed highlights.

Little did he know then that their lives would become entwined a few months later in the most bitter of ways. Her husband…and his wife. His chest heaved. And their sons, by a cruel twist of fate, were best friends.

Which was why he was here now. The only reason he was here, he reminded himself sharply.

“As I said, I’m here because of Benjamin, my son.” Cain’s voice was harsher than he’d intended it to be. He felt oddly off balance, struck again by the steady warmth of those unusual amber eyes, regarding him unblinkingly through wayward honeyed strands from her loosening ponytail.

Annoyed at his reaction, he flicked his gaze away, letting it sweep down her flour-smudged T-shirt to her equally grubby shorts, which looked as if she’d wiped her floury hands on them.

“My son’s becoming uncontrollable,” he admitted grimly, trying not to look at the long, lightly tanned legs below the short shorts. Disgusted with himself for even noticing them, he snapped his gaze away from her altogether, to stare at the wall behind. What was it about this ordinary suburban housewife that was causing this edginess in him?

“Ben’s very moody,” he muttered, dragging his thoughts back to his son. “He won’t do as he’s told, he has temper tantrums like a two-year-old and he’s been through at least five baby-sitters since my—since Christmas.”

Five baby-sitters? Mardi felt a rush of compassion for the small boy who’d lost his mother and been left with strangers since. Why hadn’t his father taken time off work and cared for the boy himself during the long summer holidays?

“I’ve tried everything,” Cain Templar growled. “I’ve even taken odd days off myself, when an incompetent baby-sitter has let me down.”

Odd days off… How magnanimous of him, Mardi thought in scorn. Obviously today wasn’t one of those odd days. She glared at his immaculate business suit and tie, guessing that he’d come here straight from his office. No rushing home to his son first….

“Where is Ben now?” she asked, feeling for the boy.

“He’s with a new baby-sitter.” Cain grimaced. “I’ve spoken to Ben on the phone and he says he hates her already. I had to dangle the bait of McDonald’s to calm him down.” He shook his head. “It’s not as if he’s had nothing to do during the holidays. He’s been to playgrounds and kids’ movies and the beach, and I’ve arranged for our friends’ children to come and play with him, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone.” His mouth tightened. “Anyone except—”

“He’s just lost his mother!” Mardi cried, wanting to forestall what she guessed he was about to say. Anyone except his friend Nicky. Ben, she thought regretfully, would have to forget Nicky.

Cain Templar’s blue eyes grew remote, unreadable, at the mention of Ben’s mother. “It’s been weeks now. He’s getting worse, not better.”

“The long summer holidays can drag for a small child. He should be okay once he starts school.” Only, he won’t find Nicky there. “There’s only another week to go,” she said brightly.

“It’s not his mother or St. Mark’s that Ben’s missing,” Cain said flatly.

Mardi held her breath, at a loss to know how to stop what she knew was coming. “It’s his friend Nicky. Your son, Nicky. Ben keeps asking if he can play with him. I’ve tried every diversion I can think of. I was sure you wouldn’t want to encourage their friendship any more than I do.”

She shook her head vigorously. At least they agreed on that!

His chest swelled in a sigh. “But keeping Ben away from Nicky hasn’t worked. It’s just made him more rebellious and difficult. I don’t know if Nicky’s been missing Ben, too….”

His eyes pierced hers and she found herself floundering. How could she deny it? “Mmm…”

He looked satisfied. “Well, the only solution, as I see it, is to let them play together and hope they’ll get sick of each other before long, as young children do.”

She swallowed. “And if they don’t?”

He drew in his lips. “Once they’re both back at St. Mark’s, with other children around, they’ll make other friends.”

She took a deep breath. “Nicky won’t be going back to St. Mark’s this year.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Why not? Even if you move out of the area, you’ll still want to send your son to St. Mark’s, won’t you, where he’ll be with children he knows? It would be a shame not to go back…it’s a very good school.”

Very good, and very expensive, Mardi thought, but as she began to shake her head, Cain gave a wry smile.

“Keep them apart and they’ll only go on pining for each other.”

She puffed out a sigh. Heck, Cain Templar was persistent. “Throw them back together and they’re more likely to get closer to each other, if I know Nicky.” Nicky was loyal to a fault. “Look, it’s best if they don’t see each other at all. Nicky won’t be going back to St. Mark’s, so there’s really no more to be said.”

“But why not, for pity’s sake? You haven’t even found another place to live yet. Why not send him back until you do?”

“Because I can’t aff—” She stopped, on the brink of blurting out the shameful truth.

He frowned. “Can’t afford it?” The expression in his eyes changed. Hardening, rather than softening. “Are you saying that your husband didn’t leave you and your family sufficiently provided for? I thought he was a successful lawyer.” He glanced round at the expensive furnishings, the new carpet, the impressive built-in shelves lining an entire wall.

She spread her hands helplessly. “He had…a lot of expenses. Overwhelming expenses.” She wasn’t going to run down Nicky’s father…not now that Darrell was gone and unable to harm them any further. She was determined to keep his image as a loving, caring father intact for his son’s sake. “Please…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Cain regarded her speculatively. She must have loved the creep…and must love him still, despite the bitterness and hurt he’d inflicted on her. Poor woman. And it was his wife who’d taken Mardi’s husband from her, his wife who was responsible for her pain. In some odd way, it made him feel responsible, too.

“Look…whether you send Nicky back to St. Mark’s or not, the boys can still see each other…if you’ll let them,” he argued on his son’s behalf, though in his heart he didn’t want the boys thrown back together any more than she did. Seeing more of the Sinclair family—of Darrell Sinclair’s widow in particular—would be a constant and humiliating reminder of their spouses’ shoddy affair.

But what he thought or felt or wanted didn’t matter. It was Ben who mattered…the son he’d taken little notice of in the past five years. The ruthless quest for wealth, success and position—and damn it, for parental approval, too—had taken over his life, coming close to alienating him from his son. Ironic, when he thought about it. He’d been so determined that history wouldn’t repeat itself.

Mardi saw his mouth tighten and felt a shiver brush down her spine. Cain Templar would be a dangerous man to get mixed up with.

“Doesn’t Ben have any grandparents who can help out?” As the question left her lips, her eyes grew pensive. Nicky had never known any of his grandparents, only his great-grandfather Ernie. Her parents had died when she was six, and Darrell’s widowed father, who’d been in a nursing home for years, unable to recognize anyone, had died early last year.

“No.” A cold, unequivocal no. “Sylvia had no parents, and my father and stepmother live in New Zealand.” A sudden chill turned his blue eyes to ice. “We’re not close.”

Mardi’s gaze searched his. Was there pain under the ice? Anger? It was impossible to tell. She shivered again, the coldness in his eyes seeming to chill the very air around her.

“You didn’t get on with your stepmother?” she ventured, injecting sympathy into her voice, hoping it might make him reveal a bit more about himself.

“I didn’t get on with my father.” His face was granite hard, his frosty eyes clearly warning her Subject closed.

She backed off. “I didn’t realize you were a New Zealander,” she said lightly. She would never have picked it from his accent, which sounded more Australian, or even slightly English.

“I’m not. I’m a naturalized Australian.”

“But you were born and brought up in New Zealand?”

“I left when I was eighteen, to go to Sydney University.” His eyes grew remote again, and even more discouraging.

But this time she didn’t take the hint. “And you haven’t been back since then?”

She almost took a step back as his powerful frame tensed, his face darkening. “Once,” he ground out at length. “When Ben was about eighteen months old.” He’d thought, more fool he, that the sight of his first grandchild might have softened his father’s stony heart, but it hadn’t—any more than his own growing wealth and success had impressed his narrow-minded parent.

Mardi swiftly brought the conversation back to Ben. “Well, what about aunts and uncles? Do you have any brothers or sisters who could help you with Ben? Or cousins who could play with him?”

“No.” As sharp and implacable as before. “I have a couple of stepsiblings, but as far as they’re concerned, I don’t exist. And vice versa,” he said with grim satisfaction, crushing any pity she might have had for him.

“Look…” His tone changed, the grimness wiped out as if it had never been. “Our two boys still have a week before school starts,” he reminded her. “If we allow the boys to see each other, a week should be long enough, hopefully, for them to get over their obsession with each other…and calm Ben down a bit.”

Mardi shook her head doubtfully. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea….”

His brow lowered again. “You’re being very hard on the boys. I thought you’d have more compassion.” A hard, silvery glint kindled in his blue eyes. He looked almost threatening for a second. A man, Mardi thought unsteadily, not used to losing his battles…and not liking it when he did.

“So what if they do get closer?” Cain threw out the challenge. “If it helps my son—and he badly needs help—it’s worth taking that risk.” A betraying roughness edged his voice.

It was the first real emotion he’d shown and it pierced her own fragile armor. Especially his accusation that she didn’t feel for the boys.

She tilted her chin. “I am thinking of the boys. They’ve been apart since before kindergarten broke up last year. Why throw them back together now, when we know it will only be for a short time?” Why throw the two of us together, she wanted to add, when it will only keep the bitter memories alive for both of us?

But Mardi knew in her heart that it wasn’t bitter memories she was worried about. It had more to do with a tall, handsome, potently attractive man with cobalt-blue eyes who’d been haunting her dreams for months. Why did that stranger at the gate have to turn out to be Sylvia Templar’s husband and Benjamin Templar’s father? And why did he have to turn up here, making demands that would force her to see more of him?

“They’re only five years old,” he said, visibly changing tack, the hard light in his eye softening a trifle. “They don’t understand what’s happened, or why they’re being kept apart. They only know they want to see each other again.”

He leaned forward, using the full force of his compelling blue gaze. “I know it will be as difficult for you as it will for me, Mrs. Sinclair, but I think we should put our own feelings aside…for the sake of our sons.”

For the sake of our sons. Mardi felt a tremor, recalling Nicky’s plaintive pleas to see Ben again. Was she being selfish by keeping the boys apart? Was she thinking more of herself than two little boys in need? “Mardi,” she reminded him absently, as she found herself wavering.

“Mardi.” He gave a brief smile, and her eyes flickered under its impact. What, she wondered dazedly, would a real smile be like?

“Look, let the boys see each other…for as long as you’re still here.” Cain injected a note of pleading into his voice. “Come to dinner with us tonight. A casual meal together to break the ice.”

She thought of Nicky’s unhappy face, of his constant pleas to see Ben, and felt herself weakening even more. But she wasn’t going to cave in yet. “We—we can’t come tonight. There’s my grandfather to—”

“Maybe he’d enjoy it, too.”

She shook her head, her eyes wistful. “I don’t think so. He doesn’t go out much. He has a bad hip and it’s too painful for him. He’s—” She was about to say “waiting for an operation,” but Cain Templar wouldn’t understand why anyone should have to wait. He’d have private health insurance and wouldn’t even know about waiting lists at public hospitals.

“Besides,” she continued, “Grandpa doesn’t eat much these days.” Which was just as well, with tonight’s dinner lying in ruins. She still had some vegetable soup she’d made a couple of days ago, she remembered. She could add some potatoes—she had one or two left. And she had bread in the freezer. That would have to do for tonight. Followed by whatever she could salvage of her carrot cake.

Cain thrust his face closer, and she felt her breath stop for a disturbing second. “Then let Nicky come and play with Ben tomorrow. At our home. It’s Saturday and I’ll be home all day.” He pinned her with his magnetic blue gaze. “I’ll come and pick him up in the morning, give the boys lunch and drop Nicky home again later in the day.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “I—I’d prefer to have the boys here—” she faltered “—where I can keep an eye on them myself. I—I like to know exactly where Nicky is and what he’s doing.” She wasn’t sure she trusted Cain Templar. He obviously wasn’t used to looking after small boys. What if Nicky fell over and broke his glasses and no one was there to help him? What if Ben had a temper tantrum and Nicky couldn’t deal with it?

Cain looked faintly surprised, which didn’t unduly surprise her. He and his wife, she was well aware, had been in the habit of leaving their son with baby-sitters—though Sylvia had shown more interest in Ben, she reflected caustically, when she’d started her involvement with Darrell. Their sons, wanting to play with each other after kindergarten or at weekends, had given them a perfect cover, a perfect excuse to see each other.

Of course, they’d soon found an even more convincing excuse to see each other—alone. The lonely, neglected wife, needing legal advice from her new lawyer friend. Darrell had never told Mardi what kind of legal advice Sylvia Templar had sought.

Perhaps Sylvia Templar had been seeking a divorce from her husband and Darrell had been giving her advice, or even setting the wheels into motion.

Had she? Mardi’s teeth clamped down on her lip. And had Darrell—besotted as he’d been with this rich, beautiful, perfect woman, whose home he’d described as a palace—been planning to divorce his wife? His boring suburban housewife?

Mardi jumped as she felt Cain Templar’s hand on her arm. “I meant for you to come, too…naturally,” he said, his voice gentler than she’d heard it so far. But his eyes were unreadable, projecting little warmth. Well, perhaps hers weren’t, either, she thought wryly. They were, after all, arranging this reunion purely for the sake of their sons.

“Ah…” was all she could say, the last of her arguments crumbling.

“How about I pick you both up at ten-thirty?” he suggested, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “Is that too early?”

“No…ten-thirty’s fine,” she said faintly, wondering what she was getting herself into. To spend a whole day with Cain Templar…How unwise was that? And why would he want to spend his time with her? Simply because she’d insisted on being there to watch over her son?

Her eyes flickered in quick suspicion.

“If I’m coming, too, there’s no need for you to come and pick us up,” she said firmly. “I have my own car.” She could always park it a few doors down the street so that Cain Templar wouldn’t be embarrassed by her old bomb. Darrell had bought her a secondhand car under sufferance, when she’d insisted on going back to work part-time. Her husband hadn’t believed in working wives. Wives were meant to stay at home and run the household. In return for his “generosity,” she’d had to agree to the purchase of his ill-fated BMW.

“As you wish.” Cain’s blue eyes were as cool as his tone. “Well, I must go,” he said, and she nodded, pleased that he seemed anxious, finally, to get home to his son.

Next minute he was gone, leaving the air crackling and swirling in his wake. She had to take several deep breaths on her way to the bathroom. Cain Templar was a forceful, dynamic presence and an incredibly persuasive man. Determined as she’d been not to get involved with the Templar family, he’d swept all her arguments aside.

But his motives weren’t so clear. Did he genuinely love and care about his son—the son he’d left recently for eight long weeks? The son he’d left so often with baby-sitters? Or did he simply want a more controllable son and a more peaceful, undemanding life at home?

She sighed as she trudged back along the passage.

About twenty minutes later, as she was drying Nicky’s hair after his bath, she heard the front doorbell ring again.

“Oh, no,” she groaned. “Who is it now?”

“I’ll get it,” Grandpa shouted from the den, and she heard his stick tap-tapping along the passage.

“Well, be careful,” she yelled out. “Take it slowly.” Grandpa tried so hard to help her, but every movement was painful for him, every step a hazard.

“I am, I am!”

A few moments later she heard voices, and footsteps coming along the passage to the kitchen. One was Grandpa’s voice and the other a deeper voice that sounded suspiciously like—

Her hands froze midair.

“Mummy, you’ve stopped rubbing!”

“Sorry.” She resumed her rubbing, but with her ears pricked, trying to pick out what the two men in the kitchen were saying. Why had Cain Templar come back? Had he left something behind? Or had he already changed his mind about tomorrow? Maybe he’d remembered something more important he had to do.

Mardi tightened her lips, wondering if he was in the habit of letting his son down. She just hoped he hadn’t told Ben in advance that he intended to visit Nicky.

She frowned, straining to hear. She could only hear Grandpa’s voice now, and she would have sworn he was thanking the other man for something. But for what? Had Cain told him about tomorrow’s planned reunion for the two boys? Grandpa knew how much Nicky wanted to see Ben again. But would he be thanking Cain for bringing that Jezebel’s son back into their lives?

She heard her grandfather calling out goodbye with a gusto she hadn’t heard from him for some time, then firm footsteps—not Grandpa’s—sounded again in the passage and a moment later the front door slammed shut. Cain Templar had gone.

She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Well, he obviously hadn’t come back to see her. She wasn’t sure if she felt disappointment or relief.

She heard the tap-tap of Grandpa’s stick coming from the kitchen, and a moment later his head poked round the bathroom door. “That was your friend again. He brought us dinner.”

“He brought us what?”

“He said it was his fault you burned our dinner, and he’s brought us another pie and another cake, from some homemade cake shop, he said.”

Mardi rose slowly to her feet, touched, despite herself, by Cain’s thoughtful gesture. Or was it more that he felt sorry for her, because he’d guessed that she was hurting financially? She flushed, glad that she hadn’t had the embarrassment of having to accept his offer herself. She didn’t want anyone’s charity! Especially not his.

“Wow! Let’s go and look!” Nicky made a dash for the kitchen, with Grandpa, broadly smiling, hobbling behind. Mardi didn’t follow immediately, cleaning the tub and tidying up first. But despite her misgivings about accepting charity from a virtual stranger—from a Templar—it was a load off her mind to have another pie and cake to give to her family for dinner.

She hadn’t had too many loads taken off her mind lately.

Chapter Three

“Are we nearly there, Mummy?”

“Nearly, darling.” Mardi glanced over her shoulder at her fidgety, bright-eyed son and smiled. If she’d had any doubts about accepting Cain Templar’s invitation to his home today, the glow on Nicky’s face since she’d told him he’d be seeing Ben again had chased them away. If there were to be any consequences in the future, she would worry about them then. “Here’s Ben’s street now.”

“Yippee!” Nicky strained forward. “I see it! It’s the house with the high wall.” He’d been here before, of course. With his father.

Mardi slowed down. “I think I’ll park here in the shade of this tree. We can walk from here.” Not that anyone behind that long high wall would be able to see her car, wherever she parked it.

Nicky undid his seat belt and jumped out the second she pulled up. “Come on, Mummy. I want to see Ben.”

Mardi was anxious to see Ben, too. She just hoped that Nicky’s presence would have a calming effect on the troubled boy and that Ben’s tantrums and uncontrollable behavior wouldn’t rub off on her son. She had enough problems!

One was the thought of seeing Cain Templar again. I don’t want this any more than you do, he’d said, stressing that his invitation was purely for his son’s sake. He didn’t want her there, as well, but she’d given him little choice. And she didn’t regret the stand she’d taken, little as she’d wanted to come herself. There was no way she was going to dump Nicky on Cain Templar’s doorstep and just leave him there—no matter how grand his home was or how lofty his standing might be in the community. She didn’t know or particularly like the man, and she had no idea if she could trust him to look after her son, let alone cope with two lively five-year-olds.

Oh, Mardi, who are you kidding? She sighed, knowing she had a deeper, more shameful reason for not wanting to come today. What if he could read the embarrassing truth in her eyes? The truth that she subconsciously lusted after him.

Subconsciously… That was the key word. She stuck out her jaw. Consciously, she would no more want to get tied up with him than with…than with another Darrell Sinclair.

When they reached the Templars’ gate—a solid timber gate as high as the wall—she paused to take a breath and collect herself. She was wearing her best tailored slacks and a neat white blouse, with a tote bag slung over her shoulder. Somehow her old faded jeans and a T-shirt hadn’t seemed right for a visit to the Templars’ luxurious home.

She saw a security intercom beside the gate and pressed a button. A woman with a foreign accent answered, brusquely telling her to come in and to proceed to the front door of the house. Mardi assumed she must be a maid or a housekeeper. Or Ben’s latest baby-sitter? The woman didn’t sound young enough, or refined enough, to be a special woman friend of the lofty Cain Templar.

The thought that he might have a woman friend brought a frown to Mardi’s brow and an unaccountable twinge, which annoyed her so intensely that her thoughts turned vicious. She wondered if he’d had a mistress while Sylvia was still alive, and if the humiliation had driven his wife into the arms of another man—Mardi Sinclair’s ruthlessly ambitious husband!

Mardi shook the thought from her mind and pushed the gate open, ushering Nicky through.

Her eyes widened as she saw Cain Templar’s home. She knew that the house faced the harbor down below, but even from the back, the massive white-walled double-story mansion was a sight to behold.

There was a lock-up garage and what looked like a guest house to one side, and a paved terrace and neat garden beds between the street wall and the house. A row of Italian stone urns, spilling over with brightly colored flowers, led to a covered porch.

The door suddenly burst open and a small boy hurtled through. Mardi recognized him immediately as Ben. Tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed, he was a miniature version of his father—but with noticeably more warmth and enthusiasm.

“Hi, Nicky!” Ben cried out as he spied his long-lost friend.

A smile lit up Nicky’s small face as he broke free of his mother and darted forward. “Hi, Ben.”

Not a trace of shyness from either boy, Mardi noted with a faint mistiness in her eye as Ben grabbed Nicky by the hand and dragged him inside. A swarthy, middle-aged woman with no trace of a welcoming smile was standing by the door, but she stepped aside as the boys burst past her.

“I apologize for my—” Mardi began, but the woman had already turned on her heel.

“Follow me,” she said, without pausing to introduce herself.

Mardi found herself in a spacious circular reception hall, with a sweeping staircase that brought Gone with the Wind to mind. Above her was the largest, most impressive crystal chandelier that she’d ever seen.

The boys, their shoes clattering on the gleaming, marble-tiled floor, were fast disappearing along an unbelievably wide, seemingly endless central passage, heading for the harbor-facing front.

So much marble, Mardi noted in wonder. Italian, for sure. She wondered what her young son thought of all this magnificence. He probably hadn’t even noticed. He’d only be interested in Ben. And of course, he’d been here before, with his father.

“Come!” The poker-faced housekeeper was already flip-flopping after the boys in her flat-heeled scuffs. Mardi quickened her steps, half expecting Cain to appear from one of the exquisitely furnished rooms that she spied at intervals on her way to the front door—all of them, she noted in bemusement, following the same basic white theme. Beautiful, but hopelessly impractical. She wondered how anyone could possibly keep the place clean with an exuberant young boy in the house.

Poor Ben. She’d have tantrums, too, Mardi decided, if she had to live in such pristine perfection!

Where was Ben’s father? she pondered when Cain Templar failed to appear from any of the rooms. The boys had vanished from sight. When the housekeeper ushered her through the impressive glass doors at the front of the house and led her out onto a broad, balustraded terrace, she assumed that Cain had ordered his maid to get his guests out of his house at the earliest possible opportunity.

In front of her stood a white outdoor table with a set of matching chairs, set with drinking glasses and bowls of nuts and cookies.

Her gaze swept past them. “Wow!” She blinked against the sunlight as a breathtaking vista opened up in front of her.

Wide stone steps led down to a beautifully landscaped garden on several levels, with exotic plants, elegant statues and sweeping lawns—in fact, the two boys were already chasing each other round one of the lawns, among the statues, as she watched. A kidney-shape swimming pool lay to one side, with, she was relieved to see, a discreet iron-railing safety fence all round. On a lower level was an immaculately kept grass tennis court. Beyond lay the harbor in all its glory, with white-sailed yachts and other craft skimming across the shimmering blue water, and in the distance she spied the familiar outline of the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

She swallowed. What a view! She hoped Cain appreciated it. She glanced back at his house. With its soaring white columns rising to the upper-story balcony, it looked even grander and more magnificent from the front.

Mardi felt her throat go dry. She’d known the Templars were wealthy—their money and lavish lifestyle were what had attracted her husband to the glamorous Sylvia in the first place—but she hadn’t realized the extent of their wealth. This awesome property must be worth millions.

No wonder Darrell had been impressed. This was the kind of lifestyle her husband had longed for. His spending and debts had soared out of all control in his attempt to emulate it.

And she was paying for his folly. For his greed.

“Mr. Templar will be with you shortly,” the housekeeper informed her, still without cracking a smile. Maybe, Mardi mused with a touch of cynicism, the Templars had forbidden their staff to smile or fraternize with their guests. “He had an important phone call,” the woman added.

Business on a Saturday? Mardi shrugged. Why should she care? She’d be happier, and certainly a lot more relaxed, without him. “That’s fine. I’ll just stay here and watch over the boys.”

But she wasn’t destined to be happier and more relaxed, because in less than a minute Cain joined her, striding from the house with athletic ease and an unconsciously arrogant air of self-confidence.

She had to gulp a few times before he reached her. Having only seen him in an immaculate business suit and tie, seeing him now in a casual polo shirt and jeans—well, never in a million years would she have envisaged him in jeans! Yet he looked so right in them, so at ease in them. And so darned sexy!

How could Sylvia Templar ever have looked at another man, even during her husband’s lengthy absences?

Mardi’s thoughts darkened. The very fact that he was so sexy undoubtedly meant that he had women throwing themselves at him wherever he went. Maybe he hadn’t been able to resist their advances, and his wife had grown tired of his roving ways and decided that what was good for the goose was equally as good for the gander.

Her mind kept coming back, she realized, to his affairs…his philandering…kept shifting blame to him. Why, she despaired, was she so determined to think the worst of him, when it was his glamorous wife, of her own free will, who had chased and stolen her husband?

Would she ever find out the real truth? Did she honestly want to?

“Mardi,” Cain said, flashing her a mind-blowing smile. But she wasn’t going to cave in under it, she vowed. Charm was only skin-deep, after all. Her husband, Darrell, had possessed charm in abundance. He could switch it on and off like a tap.

“Good morning, Cain.” She kept her own smile cool. “If you’re busy,” she offered, “I can look after the boys. I’d be happy to.”

“Where are they?” he asked, glancing round. He hadn’t declined her offer, she noticed. She’d give him another minute or two—he’d stay that long out of politeness or a sense of obligation—and then he’d be off. “Ah…” He frowned. “There they are.”

She followed his gaze, her heart sinking as she saw the two boys trying to climb the wire fence surrounding the tennis court. Oh, no, she thought. Now he’ll think Nicky’s a bad influence. And she was worried about Ben’s bad behavior rubbing off on Nicky.

“They were playing chasey a moment ago,” she said with a guilty flush. “I just took my eyes off them for a minute.” To look at you—more fool me. “I’ll run down and put a stop to it.” She shot off before he could stop her—if he intended to.

“They won’t be doing it for long,” he called after her. “The wire will cut into their fingers.”

She didn’t even glance round as she flew down the steps. As soon as she was close enough for the boys to hear her, she shouted. “Get down, Nicky! You know better than to climb on other people’s fences. And you must never climb a tennis court fence. You’ll ruin it.”

“You, too, Ben. I’ve warned you before.”

Mardi jumped at the sound of Cain’s voice, not realizing he’d followed her. Both boys dropped to the ground, rubbing their smarting hands. “There’s nothing else to climb here,” Ben complained. “Nicky has big trees at his place.”

Not for much longer, Mardi thought with a sigh. Their new place, if she ever found a suitable home for her brood, would be unlikely even to have a garden.

“Elena’s bringing some drinks out onto the terrace for you,” Cain told the boys. “Let’s see who can get up there first.”

The two boys shot off, and Mardi held her breath. Ben was much taller and faster than Nicky, and she was afraid that her son would try so hard to keep up with his lanky friend that he’d trip over and break his glasses.

“A race might tire them out,” Cain commented hopefully, “and make them settle down a bit.”

“They seem very happy to see each other,” Mardi conceded, still watching anxiously as she and Cain headed off after the boys—at a more leisurely pace.

She only took her eyes off Nicky when he safely reached the terrace and flopped into an outdoor chair. Ben was already pouncing on the bowl of cookies, while Elena poured drinks for them from a big jug of orange juice.

Mardi glanced around. There was no doubt about it…it was a beautifully designed garden, with its slim ornamental pines and neat flower beds, its well-clipped lawns and graceful statues. Hardly a garden for boisterous little boys.

There were no trees suitable for climbing, as Ben had pointed out, no hardy shrubs for playing hide-and-seek, no playground equipment, no sandpit, no areas specifically set aside for energetic wear and tear. Cain Templar would probably throw a fit if his son tried to stick cricket stumps into his immaculate lawn or trampled on one of his exotic plants. Or worse, knocked over one of those slender statues dotting the lawn.

“Have you ever thought of buying a jungle gym or a swing for Ben?” she asked. “Boys love to climb. Well, you’ve just seen how they…” She trailed off as Cain’s dark brow drew down in a frown. And no wonder, she thought in immediate self-reproach. She’d been here for five minutes and she was offering suggestions that in his eyes, no doubt, would desecrate the place!

“My wife believed that play equipment would spoil the view…as well as the aesthetics of the garden.” Cain’s impassive tone gave no clue to his own thoughts on the subject. “It was difficult enough persuading her to fence the pool. The garden was her pride and joy….She oversaw everything that went into it.”

Oversaw, Mardi noted. No, Sylvia Templar wouldn’t have soiled her well-manicured hands by doing the gardening herself. But she would have employed the very best landscaping artists and gardeners.

“And she had to live with it more often than I did,” Cain added with a shrug. “I’ve always worked long hours, including weekends, and I’ve spent a lot of my time away from home on business.”

Leaving his wife at home alone…feeling lonely and neglected?

Mardi shrugged off her sour thoughts. She was supposed to be thinking of what was best for his son. She turned her mind back to swings and monkey bars.

So, it was Cain’s wife who’d banned play equipment. But his wife was no longer here. Couldn’t Cain put his son’s needs first now?

“We do have a gymnasium under the house,” Cain said. “There’s all kinds of exercise equipment there.”

Mardi pursed her lips. Exercise bikes and treadmills? Not quite the same as outdoor swings, slides and monkey bars…or a cubby house. Nicky was forever building cubby houses at home…out of old cartons, under drooping trees, in bushes. She couldn’t imagine cardboard cartons being allowed to litter the Templars’ impeccably kept yard. As for hanging ropes and a tire from a tree to make a swing, as she’d done for Nicky, there were no trees here big enough.

Her spirits dipped as she remembered that soon Nicky would have no rope swing, no trees to climb, no garden to build a cubby house in. Maybe not even room to play.

“But that’s not what you mean, is it?” Cain’s eyes were on her face. “You mean outdoor play equipment. Designed specially for kids.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “You could put a swing or a slide around the side of the house somewhere, out of direct sight,” she suggested boldly.

Cain jerked a shoulder. “There’s a granny flat and a double garage on one side of the house, and a paved barbecue and entertaining area, with border shrubs, on the other. But I guess there’d be room there somewhere….”

Mardi’s jaw dropped slightly. He was actually going to consider it?

Emboldened, she added, “And maybe you could move those statues in your lawn closer to the garden beds, to avoid them being knocked over when the boys run around.”

“Mmmm…right. Any other ideas?” Cain asked as they climbed the steps to the terrace.

The faint dryness in his tone brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks. He’d sensed that she’d been less than impressed with his perfect garden. But she’d been looking at it purely from a child’s point of view, from a practical point of view.

“I’m sorry.” Her tone was placating. “You must think I’m extremely rude. I haven’t even told you how beautiful your garden is.”

The corner of his mouth tweaked. “I know how beautiful it is. What I need to know is how to make it more child-friendly. I’d appreciate your honest opinion—if you can think of anything else.”

Cain caught the surprise in her eyes as she glanced up at him, and in the same instant the sun picked up the rare amber of her eyes and made them glow like molten gold. He felt something stir, deep in his gut. Lust… What else? Cynicism twisted his lips. He’d fallen in lust with another pair of eyes once….Sylvia’s eyes had been just as beautiful…not golden, but a dramatic, depthless black.

He scowled. He didn’t want to equate this woman with his wife. Mardi, he sensed, was a different kettle of fish altogether. From what he’d observed so far, her values and priorities would be totally different from Sylvia’s. She cared about her son…cared about her grandfather…cared about people other than herself. And she wouldn’t be the kind of woman, he suspected, who would play around behind her husband’s back…or, for that matter, be the kind of woman he would want to play around with. In fact, she was the last woman in the world he would want to get involved with. Darrell Sinclair’s widow…

Damn it, but Ben needed someone like her.

Mardi caught his scowl, and the brooding faraway look that followed, and bit back the suggestion on her lips. He might be asking for her ideas, but he plainly didn’t want to hear them. Perhaps it made him feel disloyal to his wife’s memory.

Better, she decided, to keep any further ideas for another time…if there was another time.

“Let me think about it,” she hedged, and he nodded, as if satisfied. “Um, I haven’t thanked you for the pie and the cake,” she added. “There was really no need….”

“I felt responsible, calling on you at such a bad time. Hey, kids, leave some for us!” he called out as they reached the terrace. “We want some drinks and nibbles, too.”

Ben stuck out his chin. “We’ve had enough anyway. Come on, Nicky…” He grabbed his friend’s hand and dragged him away. “Let’s look for snails.” They ran down the steps together.

Cain rolled his eyes. “I doubt if they’ll find any. Our gardener’s very meticulous about snails and weeds.”

Yes, she could see that. “How often does he come?” she asked curiously. Any gardening needed at home she’d always done herself. Not that her own garden needed much attention, being mostly native gum trees with a few hardy shrubs.

Darrell, obsessed with his rise up the ladder of success, had never had the time or the inclination for gardening. He’d insisted that their house had to be furnished and decorated before they made any major changes to the existing native garden, and he’d left her with the unpaid bills for those fine new furnishings—with accumulated interest to rub salt into her wounds.

“Our gardener, Joe, comes each day, Monday to Friday,” Cain replied. “He has the weekends off.”

Five days a week? Mardi blinked. Still, it was the kind of garden, she supposed, that would need constant attention.

“Some orange juice, Mardi?” Cain was pouring a glass for her as he spoke. “Please, sit down. We can watch the boys from here.”

We? Mardi flicked an edgy tongue over her lips. He was going to stay out here with her? Or did he intend to make an excuse to escape the minute he’d finished his morning tea?

Cain, eyes narrowed against the sun, noted the nervous gesture. She was obviously uncomfortable with him. Because he was Sylvia Templar’s husband and a disquieting reminder of her husband’s affair with his wife? Well, he guessed it was understandable that she’d feel a bit uptight. Especially if she’d loved her no-good husband.

He looked into the veiled amber eyes and found himself angry on her behalf, and curious to know more about her.

Leaning back in his chair, he tried to put her at ease. “Well, Mardi, what do you do during the week, when you’re not looking after your son and your grandfather? Do you work? Have a career? Play bridge?”

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