A Baby on Her Christmas List. Louisa George
of a few weeks. He’d kept away, making excuses not to see her, just to get his head around everything. And it had failed spectacularly because the moment she’d told him she was getting on a saddle he’d thundered down here with a distinct determination to convince her not to. He’d always teased her, had fun with her, joked around with her, but never until now had he had this need to protect her. Even if it was from herself.
And he was damned sure it wasn’t just because she was pregnant. But he wished to hell it was. Because that was none of his business. Because that he could distance himself from.
Couldn’t he?
Man, his life was changing in a direction that was beyond his control and it was taking a lot of getting used to. His life, yes. But another life, a new life, was growing inside her and he was struggling to get past that.
After finishing her dinner and crinkling up the paper into a tight ball, she spoke. ‘You didn’t have to sneak into the clinic during my lunch hour, you know. I would have given you some space.’
‘It just didn’t feel right.’ He looked everywhere but at her. The finer details of how he’d provided the sperm were definitely not for this conversation. Even more, he’d really not wanted to alert her to the fact he’d been in her workplace, doing the deed in a side room. ‘Man, they ask a lot of questions.’
‘Tell me about it. They always ask a heap of stuff about your parents too. Any genetic conditions, inherited diseases. Has either parent had cancer, heart problems, high blood pressure? It kills me just a little bit to not know. In some ways it’s a whole clean slate and I don’t know about any inherited illnesses that may be hanging over my head. But in other ways it’s a jigsaw, trying to piece bits together.’ She shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but Liam knew just how much she’d ached to know just something about her mum and dad. ‘I don’t even know who I got my eye colour from, for God’s sake.’
He wanted to say it didn’t matter. Because even if you did know who your parents were, it didn’t mean a damned thing. It sure as hell didn’t mean they loved you. Or maybe that was just his. But, then, how could he blame them? ‘Well, at least you know little Nugget there will have big beautiful blue ones, to break the girls’ hearts.’
‘Or brown. She could have my brown ones.’ She glanced over at him with a curious look and he immediately regretted mentioning any kind of pet name. He was not going to get involved. He would not feel anything for this baby. Which was currently only a collection of cells, not a baby at all. Not really.
His chest tightened. Who was he trying to fool? He could barely look at Georgie without imagining what was growing in her belly.
Who. Who was growing in her belly. His baby. He was going to be a father. And what had seemed such a simple warm-hearted gesture to help out a friend a few weeks ago had taken on a whole new meaning. This was real. This was happening. She was having his baby.
For a moment he allowed himself the luxury of the thrill of that prospect, let the overpowering innate need to protect overwhelm him.
Then he remembered a very long time ago, as a young boy of eight, the excitement deep in his heart as he’d felt a baby’s kick. His hand on a swollen bump. The soft, cooing voice. A new life.
Then it was gone.
Ice-cold dread stole across him like a shadow. It didn’t matter how far you ran, your nightmares still caught up with you.
He quickly tried to focus on something else. ‘So, plans for the weekend? After the bungee is it whitewater rafting? Paragliding? How about base jumping? All perfectly suitable under the circumstances.’
‘First I thought I’d go running with the bulls, then perhaps a little heli-skiing.’ She threw the rolled-up paper ball at him. Missed. Completely. ‘Idiot!’
He threw it back at her. ‘Bingo. On the head. Your aim is appalling.’
‘Show-off!’ She threw it towards him. Missed by a mile. Went to grab it. He reached it first and held it high above her head. Way out of her reach. She jumped to get it. Failed. Jumped again. Then she playfully poked him in the stomach so he flinched. ‘Ouch!’
‘Yes! Got it.’
He grabbed her arms and pulled her into a hug. Tickled her ribs until she yelped for mercy. Felt the soft heat of her breath on his skin. The way she moulded into him. Warm. ‘Play fair.’
‘Says the man with elastic arms. You have a natural advantage.’
‘And you …’
Grinning and breathless, she pulled away, but not before he’d got a noseful of her flowery scent. She smelt like everything good. Everything fresh and vibrant and new. Something spiralled through him. A keening need. Rippling to his heart, where it wrapped itself into a ball of content, then lower to his groin, where content rapidly turned into a fiery need.
He let her go as his world shifted slightly. This could not be happening.
She sat back down, pink-cheeked but smiling. ‘Actually, I thought I’d rip up the carpet in the spare room and see what’s underneath. I’m hoping it’s going to be one of those miracle moments—Ooh, look, the last owner covered a perfectly intact parquet floor—like on the DIY TV shows. But somehow I doubt it.’
‘So do I. You’ll be lucky if there’s a decent layer of concrete there. Thinking about your dilapidated house makes me laugh. Either that or I’d cry. It needs serious work.’ And thinking about something tangible and solid made a lot more sense than thinking about the searing lusty reaction he’d just had that had thrown him way off kilter. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve seen that old scabby carpet. The walls. The roof. My guess is that the previous owners only spent time covering up just how badly falling down the place was.’
‘Aw, you know it was all I could afford. And it’s a nice neighbourhood, good school zone, so will be worth a lot more by the time I’ve finished. Worst house on the best street and all that. And the roof is sound, it just needs some TLC.’ She pouted a little and his gaze zeroed in on her mouth. Plump lips. Slightly parted. The tiniest glisten of moisture. He leaned over and dabbed a drop of ketchup away from her bottom lip. His thumb brushed against warmth. And his body overreacted again in some kind of total body heat swamp, accompanied by a strange tachycardia that knocked hard against his rib cage. The beach seemed to go fuzzy out of his peripheral vision as she blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden contact. Her lips parted a fraction more and if he leaned in he could have placed his over them.
And now he was seriously losing his mind.
Clearly he needed to get laid and quickly. With someone else.
Georgie moved away, frowning. She might have said his name. He didn’t know. He willed his breathing back to normal.
Where were they? Oh, yes. The house. For God’s sake, he needed to get up and go. This was crazy. This irrational pointless need thrumming through his veins. Crazy and sudden and he didn’t know what the hell he was doing any more. Or where this had come from. But he wished it would go as suddenly as it arrived. ‘It’ll be great when you’re done. Lots of potential.’
‘So you said when I bought it. But now I’ve got to capitalise on that. I’ve chosen some paint. I thought a soft cream would be nice and I’ll add colour with blinds and cushions, nursery furniture. I saw a great changing table in a second-hand shop down the road from work—all it needs is a lick of paint, I’m not going to be one of those mums who—’
‘A bit early for nesting, surely?’ He gathered all the wrappers up then stood, offering his hand to pull her up.
She threw him a look filled with hurt, brushed her clothes down and reached for her bag. ‘Well, I’ve got to start somewhere. Nine months flies by, believe me. I see it all the time at work—people often don’t even come up with a name in that time.’
Ignoring his hand, she stood without help and looked out at the ocean. Her shoulders taut, back rigid. Her jaw tightened.