A Baby on Her Christmas List (9 page)

* * *

He could have been out for another few months and it wouldn’t have been enough to stop the need surging through his veins. In less than an hour he was back, trying to locate her, with his peace offering of her favourite biscuits. She wasn’t in the kitchen, and the contents of the cupboards were still in boxes in the same place on the floor.

Wondering if she was actually doing as he’d suggested and taking a nap, or on that damned stepladder again, he mounted the stairs two by two, in total silence, glad that he’d fixed the creaking floorboards. The bathroom was empty.

Intrigued, he walked along to her bedroom, heard the radio, a song he didn’t recognise, and she was singing along. It sounded ditsy and bright and he knew he should call out, make her aware of his presence, but something compelled him to be quiet as he approached her room. He told himself that he didn’t want to make her jump.

She was standing in front of her closet, holding a black lace dress up against her body and looking in the mirror, turning from side to side, stretching the fabric across her belly. The work dungarees had gone, and now she was wearing flannel shorts and a baggy blue T-shirt. After a few seconds she frowned and threw the dress on the chair then shook her hair free from the hair slide. It cascaded down her back, a river of lush honey curls. Her breasts strained against the T-shirt. She was dusty and paint-streaked and fertile and ripe. She looked sexier than any skinny model on the front of the magazines, sexier than any woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. His heart stuttered. He took a step forward, paused.

She still hadn’t heard him. Her humming continued. Taking a brush from the closet, she gathered a fistful of hair and started to brush rhythmically. And even though he knew he shouldn’t be standing here, watching her do this, knew he was breaking a zillion unspoken promises they’d made in the aftermath of the single kiss, he still couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was scratchy and raw, and his body was on fire. Each swipe through her hair was considered and resolute, her slender arm moving up and down, almost trancelike, what he could see of her face was calm and relaxed.

She was lost in thought, and still singing the upbeat, happy song. The reverence with which she took each brushstroke made his heart contract. The glossy sheen of her hair, the ridges of her back as she moved and shifted from foot to foot. Her body swayed a little, her backside bopping to and fro; and maybe it was the heat from before, the soft light in the room, the smell of her, the intimate nature of watching her, but he struggled with a powerful urge to carry her to her bed and make love to her.

He realised he was hard, that his hands were clenched against his body’s strain towards her. That he had to consciously control his feet and make them still.

How could someone doing something as mundane as brushing their hair bring him to the edge of reason?

After a few moments she started to coil her hair back up onto the top of her head again—and that was it—his control was lost. In a second he was behind her, hands on hers, whispering close to her ear. ‘Don’t. Leave it down.’

In response to his sudden arrival she turned, shaking. Confusion racing across her face. And heat too. ‘Oh, my God, Liam. You made me jump.’

‘Sorry. I just...’ He curled a lock of her hair around his fingers, pressed it to his mouth.

She placed her hands on his chest, that intimate gesture firing more need through him. ‘What?’

‘I can’t do this any more.’

‘Can’t do what?’

‘I can’t keep away from you. Ever since that kiss I’ve been hiding out.’

She let out a long breath and her face creased into a soft smile. ‘I knew it. I knew you were up to something. See. I told you. You are avoiding me. I was right. I’m always right.’

‘Intuitive, perhaps. Give a guy a break. I was doing the right thing.’ He touched her lips with the pad of his thumb, tracing the soft path, the delicate curve. They were pink and moist and kissable. He remembered how good she had tasted and suddenly he couldn’t wait any longer. Finesse lost, he dragged her to him. ‘Come here.’

She inhaled a stuttered breath, her lips opening a little, her body trembling. And made a concentrated effort to calm it. She briefly closed her eyes, opened them again. ‘But I thought—’

‘Shh... Thinking is overrated.’ He reached his arms round her thickened waist, pulled her closer, spiked his hands through her hair and nuzzled right into it. Cupping the back of her head, he held her face close against his throat. Just held her against him until the shaking stopped. Until he could look at her again. He wanted to kiss her, but he wouldn’t, wouldn’t make things difficult. But he could hold her. Could feel her soft curves and taut belly pressing against him.

Breathe
.

He prayed for the awareness and attraction to go, to be left here with just his old friend Georgie and nothing else, nothing complicated, because he knew that by taking those steps across the room he’d made things muddier than ever. But it was so compelling to hold her, to feel part of something so good. To be, for once in his life, actively looking forward, instead of just running from the past. To be accepted for the man he’d grown into.

Only now he knew how it felt, he didn’t want to go back. Couldn’t go back.

And then...the strangest of sensations. A tiny shiver against his hip, something almost ethereal...then it was gone.

His baby kicking.

Breathe.

But there was no oxygen. His chest hurt as he tried sucking in air, there was no space for anything more, emotion had filled his chest. A hard core of deep affection, a protective need, a desperate ache. And pride. His baby was moving, stirring in her belly. The shaking started again, but this time it was his body that was on the edge of control. ‘Was that...?’

‘The Scottish country dancer?’ She pulled away a little and pressed a palm against his cheek. ‘Yes, Liam. It was. There it is again.’ She reached for his hand and pressed it against her bump. It was a flutter, not a whack. At least, not against his palm. The whack to his heart was mighty, though. And, God, no, he didn’t want to feel this. Not this ache. Not this wanting. He didn’t want to feel anything.

‘Wow.’ It was all he could manage. His throat was thick, his heart rampaging as all the pain came hurtling back. Pain, and yet something else, something profound that made his soul soar.

He didn’t know what to think or what to say as he stepped back. He’d been trying to avoid any kind of physical contact with Georgie but he’d been unable to stay away, had been compelled to hold her. Now his reasoning had been proved right. All his emotions were getting tangled up and he didn’t want that. Didn’t want any emotions to get in the way of clear thinking.

Obviously sensing him detaching already, she tugged at his hand and pulled him to sit on the bed, her other hand stroking his shoulder. And it was tempting to sit with her and let her stroke the tensions away, but he couldn’t sit, so instead he walked to the window and looked out at the encroaching night. Dark shadows filled the garden, like the dark shadows in his heart. He needed to find some place where he could breathe normally again.

Georgie’s voice reached to him. ‘I know this is hard for you. I just don’t know why. I’m trying to understand, I really am, and I’m trying not to push, but I want to know. I might be able to help. Tell me about your sister, about...Lauren.’

‘I can’t... I don’t want to.’ Didn’t want to spoil this moment, where
this
child was vivid and vibrant and had so much potential.

There was a long silence where the night breathed darkness into the room, and he thought she might have fallen asleep.

When she eventually spoke she sounded disappointed, and that was so not his intention. ‘Some time, then. Tell me some time.’

But it was too much to ask of him. He didn’t even know what words to use. Lauren...had been there, and then she hadn’t been. And a huge hole had blown open in his eight-year-old heart that had never been filled with anything other than anger. At himself, mainly. At his parents.

And now... ‘It’ll only spoil everything.’ He forced air out and inhaled again, trying to make some space in his chest, but still he felt constricted and tight. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here. I need to breathe.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘T
HE
P
UDDING
P
LACE
?’

‘The right choice?’

‘Oh, yes. Most definitely. These desserts are to die for. I couldn’t think of anywhere more perfect.’ Georgie’s gaze slid over the rows and rows of chocolate éclairs, mini-Pavlovas and baked cheesecakes in the little dessert-only café, and then landed on Liam. She regarded him with caution. Whatever had been haunting him had passed. The shadows on his face had cleared a little, leaving him pale and reserved and yet trying so hard to act normal. She hadn’t realised how emotionally distant he could make himself, even when he was in the same room.

For so many years his background had never mattered to her and she’d respected his need for privacy and put his quirky way with relationships down to immaturity at first, then pickiness, but now she believed it was meshed in fear. Of what, she wasn’t sure. But now...now it meant everything. It meant the difference between them surviving this strange set-up they’d created or failing it.

If she could understand why he held back so much, perhaps she could help him surmount it. Because although he’d shown commitment with his time, she still didn’t wholly trust that he would be there when it mattered. That he wouldn’t change his mind and run. And she wasn’t prepared to take that risk with her heart or her child’s.

A waitress arrived and asked for their order. Georgie couldn’t decide. ‘I think I’ll have one of each. To start with.’

‘You sure that’s enough?’ Liam laughed, a little more carefree. ‘Or are you just keeping it light until your appetite really gets going?’

‘This eating-for-two business is pretty damned good. I’m going to miss it after the baby comes.’

He gave his order then turned the menu over and over in his hands as he spoke. ‘In South Sudan it’s not uncommon for women to have large families, sometimes up to twelve kids. Imagine the fun you’d have then: eating for two for ever.’

‘I’d be the size of an elephant if I did that and be on a perpetual diet for the rest of my life.’ The chocolate éclair was divine. Great choice. Thick and rich and moist. It slid very easily down her throat. ‘But, listen, you never tell me properly about your trips. It’s always
murky
or
dry
or
messy
. But it must be way more than that.’

Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms and watched her eat. His gaze wandered over her, causing a riot of goosebumps over her skin, and she stared right back. Splatters of cream paint stuck to his old grey T-shirt. Funny, she remembered buying that for him years ago at a gig she’d been to when he’d been covering the night shift. It had been a little baggy on him back then but now it barely contained his solid biceps and stretched across a chest of muscle. His hair was sticking up in odd places, and he was dusty.

His knuckles were scratched and his skin torn. He looked rugged and edgy and it was such a turn on to watch him move she could barely think straight. This was dangerous territory. Every second spent with him was pushing her closer to an edge she knew was going to be at once delicious and yet potentially soul-damagingly painful.

He took a sip of hot black coffee. He’d ordered just that, no food. With wall-to-wall dessert on offer the man was clearly mad. ‘So what exactly do you want to know?’

‘What kinds of things do you get up to out in the field? The people you meet. I know you usually work at the tent cities, but what are the real cities like?’

His shoulders lifted in a sort of nonchalant shrug. ‘The agency gang are pretty solid— people who want to do good, but all fed with a huge dose of reality. We know our limitations, there’s never enough of anything—resources, people, help—but there’s no point beating yourself up about what you can’t achieve, you just get on and do what you can. While we’re there the team always develops a huge bond, but such intensity can also drive you completely nuts. We do what we can in desolate and desperate parts of the world. There are, sadly, too many of them. But we do make a difference.’

‘Well, there’s no shortage of work, judging by the stories in the papers about floods, earthquakes and war zones. There’s endless need for you everywhere.’ He went to them all without any hesitation and she’d never once heard him utter one word of complaint about the harsh conditions he must have to endure, and the terrible things he must have seen. He kept everything tight inside him, but she didn’t doubt he made a difference. He must have saved hundreds of lives and given thousands more help and much-needed hope. ‘And the people you help? What are they like?’

‘Desperate. Stoic. Honest. Victims. They have nothing apart from the clothes they stand up in. No homes, nowhere to call their own. There’s always a threat—if it’s not soldiers and fighting, or landmines and rogue devices, it’s weather. Too much rain, or not enough. They need so much more than we can give them. But we fight to save their kids’ lives. It’s important to have a generation of hope that can break through the cycle of poverty and suffering.’

Pride rippled through her chest, her already tender heart bruising just a little more. Between him and her baby her emotions were being bumped around all over the place. ‘But isn’t it desperately heartbreaking? I know when I worked on the paeds oncology ward it damn near broke my heart.’

Again with the shrug. ‘Of course, but it’s uplifting too. You try to keep the emotion out of it, or you’d never survive. You can’t carry all that and more around with you all the time, you just get on and do the job. I’ve learnt to detach.’

Hallelujah.
‘Oh, yes. I’ve seen you detach, my friend. I have personal experience. You’re pretty expert at it.’

‘Yeah, well. I don’t like getting in too deep.’ He tried for a smile, which at once made him look boyish and yet very, very sexy. ‘It brings me out in hives.’

‘That much is obvious. You have form. Lots and lots of form. I’m thinking Sally the medical student, Jenny from Hamilton and Hannah the interior decorator. Poor Hannah, she was nice. You really broke her heart.’

‘She was talking babies, mortgages, retirement homes...’ He visibly shuddered. ‘She had our whole future mapped out on the first date. And she even had a cutesie name for me. Seriously, one evening spent together and suddenly I was Macadoodle-doo. No one does that.’

Georgie couldn’t help but smile. ‘Oh, yes, they do. It’s part of the relationship ritual. It’s about creating a whole new world of two, developing a language you wouldn’t speak to anyone else. I think it’s endearing.’

‘It isn’t.’

She laughed. ‘You know your trouble? You just need to let people in a little.’

‘Really? My trouble?’ His laugh was brief. ‘My relationships have given you lots of entertainment over the years, missy, and vice versa. But I’ve never thought you had trouble that needed fixing. I just took you the way you are. I still do.’

‘Even pregnant? Because that took a bit of getting used to, didn’t it?’

His eyebrows rose and he let out a big breath. ‘Yes, even pregnant. Look, things have been very weird since this whole pregnancy thing started, but I’m doing my best to deal with it.’

‘I know you’ve been working really hard on the house. And it’s been brilliant.’ But he still had a damned long way to go—like talking about the baby unhindered, like being in the same room with her, like being able to look at the baby scans with joy instead of concern and fear, as if he expected pain.

Although the last day had proved he could spend some time with her. But with what consequences? She’d almost dragged him to the bed the minute his breath had touched her neck. Holding back was the single most difficult thing she’d ever had to do.

Up until now she’d been the only woman he’d never detached from and it broke her heart to think she could well end up being just another one to add to his list. One kiss and they’d been on shaky ground ever since. Every movement he made, every space he filled, she was aware of him. Too much. Way too much. And that stunt in the bedroom had her flustered all over again. She was fighting the attraction but she didn’t know how long she could hold out.

‘I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just...I can’t help noticing that when you’re struggling or getting close to someone you always cut loose right at the point when things start getting interesting. Like...’ She wasn’t sure of the wisdom of bringing this up, but if she didn’t then he probably would anyway, if the conversation at the French market was anything to go by. ‘Like earlier. Weird, but I really thought for a minute that you were going to kiss me.’

‘Oh. That.’ His mouth had been close to hers, his raw masculinity emanating from every pore. She’d wanted him with a fierce and frightening urgency, had wanted him every day while he’d been up that ladder, flexing his arms to the ceiling, carrying timber around the house, hammering nails. Every. Damned. Nail. Each hit with the hammer had made her hot and bothered—and she was sure it wasn’t good for her, or the baby, to have such a need that was being unfulfilled.

At what point, she wondered, did desire ever go away? Because for her it seemed to be getting worse by the minute, and just when she thought it was waning, he’d do something as simple as open a damned can of paint and just watching his hands move so confidently made her all hot and bothered again. Worse, the way he looked at her with such heat in his eyes made her believe he felt the same but that he was fighting it every step of the way.

But why?

Friendship. They had a decade of past and a long future hanging on the choices they made now.

There was a beat before he answered, as if he was debating what to say and how to say it, and she wished this situation hadn’t made him so guarded. ‘Georgie, make no mistake, I do want to kiss you, but I have just about enough self-control to hold myself back. It may not be a good idea to talk about this.’

‘You did at the market.’

‘That was before it had become a...habit.’ He looked at his hands. They were still damned confident, even wrapped around a coffee cup, and she remembered what it had been like to feel so wanted as he’d hugged her.

‘One kiss is hardly a habit.’

‘Not the kiss. The wanting.’

‘Ah.’ Words were lost somehow between her throat and her mouth. The café sounds around her dimmed and her senses hyped up to acute overdrive. It was hard to breathe. Hard not to stare at those lips, those eyes, that face. Hard not to imagine what he could do to her and what she could do right back. Hell, he’d just admitted he wanted to do it again, so should she just kiss him anyway?

She felt like she was on a seesaw, her heart pulling one way, her head tugging the other. Up. Down. Up. Down. It was exhausting and exhilarating. With one look she could be flying, one word and she’d be hurtling back down to earth.

She struggled with her composure, but as always was falling deeper and deeper under his spell. And she could have struggled just a little bit harder, walked away, called a halt, but she didn’t. Pure and simple. ‘And why would you want to be so self-controlled?’

‘Because it’s too much to ask of us.’ His eyes were burning with a sudden heat that felt as if it reached out and stroked her insides.

‘We’ve already been through ten years. We already ask a lot of each other.’

‘But now you’re asking questions I don’t know the answers to. You never did that before. You’re trying to fix me and I don’t need fixing. I don’t want to be fixed. If we continue like this, things will change. Things have changed, and I’m not sure I like it, or want it, or know how to handle it, without letting you down.’

Part of her believed that to be right. He was being chivalrous and living up to his values, being honest about where things could or couldn’t go for them. There was surely no future, especially with his emotional barriers. They were utterly and completely incompatible.

The other part of her wished he’d give up on his good intentions and kiss her anyway. Because she could see neither outcome sat comfortably with him. Perhaps she should just make it easier for him. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know exactly what she was getting into. And if something didn’t happen soon she would finally know what it was like to die from desire.
Fan the flames and let them burn out.

‘I’ve a feeling it’s already a little late to worry about things changing between us. Don’t you think? I’m not the only one here wondering what it would be like if we kissed again.’ Pricking some vanilla cheesecake onto her fork, she offered it to him across the table. ‘Don’t you get just a little tired of being so saintly?’

‘Yes. Every single moment I’m with you.’ He leaned forward again and she was transfixed as he closed his mouth over the morsel of food. Heat shimmied through her as he very slowly chewed then swallowed, the movement of his Adam’s apple dipping up and down strangely and compellingly sexy. Her eyes slid from his throat to his mouth, a guarded smile on a face filled with dips and curves she knew so well but had never really explored. How she wanted to trace her finger along those lips, to run her hand across his cheek and feel the rasp of his stubble against her skin. To scale the furrows of his cheekbones.

His voice was an octave dirtier when he spoke. ‘My mind is working overtime, thinking of the things we could do together. But I’m sure it’s just a passing phase. All interest in the new curves and stuff. I just want to touch you. It’s a man thing—feral and protective and instinctive. We can’t help it. Nature’s a bitch sometimes. If we act on these instincts and then it doesn’t work out, that’s a lot of friendship down the drain. We need to co-parent on a platonic and sensible basis, not give in to rash lust and then have regret to deal with, too.’

‘Oh, so you mean the bigger boobs are distracting you? Interesting...’ She very slightly arched her back as he lowered his gaze to her breasts. A powerful need zinged through her. She wanted him and was resorting to seduction of the clumsiest kind. But she couldn’t get him out of her head. She needed to know what it would be like to be with him. If only one time. Just to hold each other as lovers, unlike the way they touched each other now, as friends. She wanted to stroke him, kiss every part of him. And if she didn’t do it soon she’d go completely mad.