Adam’s Boys (2 page)

Guests soon began to wander towards their tables, urged in that direction by catering staff anxious to get the evening meal underway. Justin began to guide Abbie towards their allocated table too, her heart sinking as she faced up to the reality that she might not actually see, let alone talk to
him
, that night at all.

Yet just as she was sliding into her seat, she heard a male voice call out to Justin from behind. It was mellow and English accented, and it stilled the blood in her veins like no other could. Rising to her feet, Abbie swung slowly around at the precise moment that Adam Cooper fell into Justin Murphy's outstretched arms.

The two of them embraced, and with grins from ear to ear exchanged high-spirited greetings as they held onto one another; Abbie knew it had been almost a year since they'd last met. But then her still, watchful presence nearby caught Adam's attention.

Doing a stunned double take in her direction he visibly stiffened in Justin's arms. Sensing the transformation in his mate's bearing, Justin swung around to confirm that the trigger had been the sight of his own date at the ball.

As the blood drained from Adam's face, his eyes became impenetrable black pools in the half-light of the marquee. But in the next moment he seemed to collect himself. Taking a step back from Justin, he moved towards her, stopping so close that she was sure he could hear the painful bass drum of her heart as it thumped and crashed away inside her chest.

“Abbie!” he breathed in a voice that was gravelly with shock and confusion. “I had no idea you were invited tonight. How long has it been since …”

“Four and a half years,” she interrupted in an equally gravelly voice. “And I wasn't invited. I asked Justin to bring me …”

Abbie stopped.

All of a sudden she was staring in mute helplessness at the tiny lines edging Adam's eyes as she remembered the warm smile he kept in reserve for the people he cared about most. It was a smile she'd once dived headfirst into. And yet one day it had simply vanished, followed soon after by the man himself when he left her to return home to the emptiness left behind by the death of his wife.

“I asked Justin to bring me tonight,” Abbie explained finally, a nervous tremor rippling through her voice. “You see, I need to talk to you about those weeks we spent together and about …” But Abbie couldn't go on, for Adam was already dangling regret between them like an ancient talisman. And in telling confirmation of that regret he was running a hand through his hair in a gesture of irritated torment that was like a swinging punch to her stomach.

“Abbie,” he began with such forced patience it was like a knife plunging through her heart. “This really isn't a good time. I've got to give a speech in a minute and then get around to see about a hundred people. And to be honest with you, it's Incipio's fifth birthday and my head is full of how important that is for everyone here. I can't think about what happened between us, not here—not tonight. It's too …”

“Painful?” Abbie blurted before she could stop herself.

She didn't need to hear him say it. His face said it all. But little did he know that all too soon she'd take him on an all-stops, one-way trip to pain-central.

“I know this ball is important for you, and for … oh God, I wish I hadn't come!” Abbie almost cried out and then covered her face with her hands, wishing the entire night away. But then she was dropping her hands, determined to forge ahead in delivering on her promise. “The thing is, Adam, I need to talk to you as soon as possible. That's why I … I ignored my better judgment and came here with Justin tonight—to take the first step.”

“All right,” Adam nodded wearily after setting his jaw and sizing her up for a few moments. “We can arrange a time to discuss whatever's on your mind, but God knows when. I've got to settle my son into a school orientation day tomorrow, and he'll need me around over the weekend because … well, never mind about why. Anyway, I'll be winding up some litigation matters in the office next to Justin's from next week. It's probably best if you ring his secretary and make an appointment—she's handling my diary at the moment.”

And with that Adam straightened and walked away from her, his stride as swift and sure as the day he'd walked away from her at the airport all those years ago. His promise to come back for her—when he finally got his life together—had been echoing in her ears when he finally disappeared from view.

Stunned at how badly their first meeting had turned out, Abbie made her way towards Justin. He was now seated at a nearby table and watching her expectantly as she approached and took her place next to him. But if Justin wanted to ask probing questions about the tense exchange he'd just witnessed between his two friends, he was soon thwarted. A tinkling of silver against crystal was erupting from the main table.

Silence descended across the gathering like a cashmere throw for Adam had taken up a speaking position behind the lectern, his fair head lowered over a handful of papers. Although he stood ready to speak, long seconds ticked inexorably by as though he'd forgotten where he was. Finally, clearing his throat, he lifted his head to cast his eyes around the room.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began in a quietly welcoming voice that would have been undetectable but for the microphone. “Thank you all so very much for being here tonight.”

And then he smiled—that crinkly-eyed smile that once upon a time had set off a chain of events that would change the course of Abbie's life. But with that same smile, the room erupted into an uproar of applause. The affection everyone at the ball felt for the quietly spoken chairman of the charity they loved and worked for was almost tangible in the room.

“My job tonight is to introduce you to my colleagues who are much more knowledgeable than I am about Incipio's day-to-day activities and the science around cancer research,” Adam began, and with every word he uttered he seemed to gain momentum. “I'd prepared a speech to do that, but as of a few minutes ago it seemed … I don't know … somehow inadequate. So I've decided to throw it away and just talk to you about how I come to be standing here in Sydney—in this stunning city of yours—of which I have such bittersweet memories.”

And right then Abbie simply stopped breathing, for Adam's gaze was making a slow, periscopic sweep of the crowd in remorseless search of something or somebody. But then that gaze halted and nose-dived into hers.

Abbie sat as still as possible, desperately trying to conceal the hurricane he was whipping up inside her as his gaze bored straight into hers. Yet try as she might, she couldn't stop her cheeks filling with searing heat as two hundred pairs of eyes seemed to turn towards her. But in the next second Adam's look had moved on again as swiftly as it had arrived, leaving Abbie wondering whether she'd imagined the whole thing.

“Some of you …” he continued, straightening his six-foot-plus physique as he allowed his eyes to continue to roam with thoughtful composure across the sea of faces before him, “some of you had the special privilege of knowing my wife. What can I say about Ellen except that no woman could have lived life with more courage and strength, or with greater vision about how to make the world a better place. During her illness, she endured with incredible dignity the ravages of cancer, gave birth to our baby boy Peter and five years ago, started up one of the most successful charities for cancer research and respite care in the UK. And if that was not enough, as one of London's most loved artists, she also had to deal with the relentless and often intrusive public interest in our marriage and in her declining health. Yet even as her death approached—at the age of just twenty-eight—Ellen never put herself first. All she thought about was her baby, me, the family she was leaving behind, and the women enduring the same physical and emotional ordeal that she was.”

Adam halted for a moment, dropping his head again as though waiting for his own emotional ordeal to pass so that he could continue. He then lifted his head and was speaking as though he'd never stopped. His voice—slightly more croaky than before—was the only sign that he was battling—big time.

“The rest, as they say, is history. I won't take up your time with Incipio's vision for Australia—our very capable CEO will soon walk you through all of that. But what I would like to briefly touch upon tonight is my conviction that women's cancers wage a kind of war upon all of us as they strike down our wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers, friends and girlfriends. The ripples of permanent loss from this war are endless and ongoing. In my own life, the four-and-a-half years since Ellen died have disappeared in the blink of an eye. I still feel as though I'm floundering around as much as I was at the time I lost her; as you can imagine, that's had an enormous impact upon our son. It's that kind of irreparable loss, which so many of us share, which is the driving imperative to keep building our armoury against women's cancers. It's an honour to be here tonight to celebrate Australia joining the UK and throwing in its hand for our cause. And on that note, I'd like to now thank a number of my colleagues at Incipio and other supporting organisations. Without these people, we—and I mean everyone here tonight—would never have achieved the success that we have in this collective endeavour of ours.”

Adam then went on to introduce and thank a long list of his colleagues. When ten minutes later he gathered up his papers, moved away from the lectern and lowered himself into visible obscurity at a nearby table, the gathering exploded into applause once again.

Abbie sat perfectly still, reeling in the face of the wave of respect and appreciation for a man whose perfect marriage and love for his wife was still so vibrant, it felt as though Lady Ellen Blackwood was present at the ball that night. And when a band began to play, enticing a crowd to the dance floor, Abbie stood and Justin rose up next to her.

“Dance with me, Justin?”

“You're kidding, Abbie,” he threw at her in challenge. “You never dance at balls. In fact, you never dance at all!”

“I know I don't, but tonight I need to. Just one, and then I'm going home, where I should have stayed. It was a mistake to come here, but thank you so much for agreeing to bring me. You weren't to know …” Abbie couldn't go on because a lump had stubbornly wedged in her throat, making it difficult to talk.

Justin didn't reply straight away. Instead he made a close study of her, his eyes narrowing in thoughtful response.

“Why this dance, Abbie?” he asked gently.

“Just to prove I can,” she replied, knowing she was being impossibly cryptic. Yet how could she explain to Justin why she needed this one last grab at dignity in Adam's presence before the heartbreaking showdown that would unfold the next time they met? She couldn't explain her motives to herself, let alone anyone else.

And once she was in Justin's arms, Abbie was glad she'd instigated the dance because the music was slow and incredibly soothing; it was soon having a powerful effect on her frayed nerves.

At the precise moment she let her eyes close and her thoughts drift away under the strong encouragement of two glasses of champagne, she sensed Justin's body draw back from hers. Before she knew what was happening his arms had also disappeared from around her waist, only to be replaced by another set of arms. Sensing a stronger, taller physique against hers, and breathing in an unsettlingly familiar scent of aftershave, Abbie lifted her face to find she'd been seamlessly passed into the arms of another.

Adam Cooper.

Abbie wanted to pull away, but she couldn't have if she'd tried. How could she when he was pinning her down into a helpless, unchallenging silence with his heavy gaze as he gathered her left hand in his? Meanwhile, his other hand was moving up to find a home against her bare back. And not a square inch of her dress was within reach of impeding that slow advancement of his cool palm and fingertips.

Despite his gentle touch, Adam's expression was about as warm and readable as a stone sphinx; Abbie was certain that he was about to tell her exactly what he thought of her for turning up on a private mission to one of the most important public events of his life. With nowhere to run and definitely nowhere to hide, Abbie's hand also had nowhere else to go except up and over his broad shoulder as he drew her close.

For an entire song he held her like that, radiating through his inscrutable gaze an intensity in his mood that at once thrilled and disturbed her. But then he was pulling away, his eyes finally revealing their deep blue depths as they were caught within a fleeting flash of light from the dance floor.

“I'm so sorry, Abbie,” he began in a low voice, his warm breath like a caress against her cheek. “Seeing you earlier caught me off guard, but I should never have spoken to you like that—not under any circumstances. What happened between us all those years ago was my fault, not yours. My life was an unfolding disaster and I should never have mixed you up in it. So if you need to talk to me about that then I'll make myself available to you. I owe you that.”

Abbie stiffened and bit down hard on her bottom lip in instinctive response. In the next moment she'd stepped backwards and was extracting herself from Adam's arms.

An apology.

She'd rather have had a telling-off, a rebuff, a dismissal; anything. Just not an apology. For an apology reduced her to nothing more than a minor piece of unfinished business—a box he had to tick to put that part of his life behind him for good.

Waves of humiliation had Abbie trapped in their current and were carrying her steadily away. At that moment she forgot about everything except fighting for that same shred of dignity she'd wanted to cling onto when she'd asked Justin to dance—the one that would be wiped out for good when Adam finally discovered the kind of woman she really was.