The Pregnancy Discovery. Barbara Hannay
sand crunched beneath Sam’s shoes as he walked towards the water. By the light of a glowing white moon, Florence Bay looked beautiful. On either side of the bay, dark rocky headlands curved out to protect the deserted beach. Hoop pines, rising majestically from between granite boulders, were silhouetted in inky black strokes against the gun metal sky.
The dark water lapped gently.
Somewhere out there in the wider ocean beyond the reefs, Tom Kirby lay at rest. Thinking about his grandfather and the bottle, he hunkered down on the sand and stared ahead. These past few years, he’d been working so hard he hadn’t stopped to contemplate anything deep or meaningful—like death and the hereafter. Or life for that matter.
Lately, he’d been sensing an uneasy awareness that his own life was hurtling forward like a runaway train and he wasn’t at all sure he was heading in the right direction. He was doing the right thing by his family—carrying on the Kirby tradition—and working damn hard to keep it successful—and playing hard, too, when time permitted. But he knew deep down that neither his work nor his play was really making him happy.
Lost in thought, he didn’t hear footsteps so, when a voice suddenly sounded close behind him, he jumped to his feet.
‘Sam, what are you doing here?’
‘Meg!’
She was standing a metre or so away from him, her face pale and her eyes wide with surprise. She was wearing a soft blue sweater and white jeans and, in the moonlight, her hair had a silvery sheen and she looked breathtakingly lovely.
He turned and extended an arm towards the sea. ‘It may sound a little weird, but I’m paying my respects.’
‘To your grandfather?’
‘Yeah.’ Sam shoved his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from reaching for her. ‘I rang my lawyers this afternoon. They’ve been doing some research for me and I couldn’t believe what they told me.’ He kicked at a knob of bleached coral lying on the sand. ‘Tom Kirby died on this day—this very day—in 1942. In the Battle of the Coral Sea.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded suitably shocked.
‘Weird coincidence, isn’t it?’ He swallowed the constriction in his throat. Then he smiled at Meg. ‘But maybe an even better coincidence is that I am seeing you this evening after all,’ he murmured huskily. ‘You never know, maybe we’re destined for each other, Meg.’
Meg was sure Sam was teasing and she felt more than a little miffed that he might be making fun of her. Lifting her chin defiantly high, she shifted her concentration from his strong, handsome face to their surroundings—the little bay and the moon and the rocky headlands.
Time to leave, or to come up with a quick change of subject. Reluctant to hurry back to her lonely cottage, she changed the subject. ‘For some reason, those rocks always remind me of shelled Brazil nuts.’
Sam’s eyebrows rose. ‘That’s an interesting association of ideas. I wonder where it comes from?’
She smiled. ‘I know exactly where it comes from. I’m crazy about Brazil nuts.’ And for a moment she was absorbed by memory. She was sitting once more at a dining table, laden with Christmas fare, and she could see her father’s strong hands wielding the silver nutcracker, breaking open the hard shell and handing her a pure smooth Brazil nut.
‘My father always used to crack them for me and, when he gave me one, he would joke… “Would you like a nut, Meg?” Of course, his nickname for me was Nutmeg.’
‘Nutmeg,’ Sam repeated. ‘I like that.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Does your father live here on the island?’
‘My father’s dead,’ she told him in a shaky whisper.
‘I’m sorry.’ His hand reached out and rubbed her shoulder gently.
‘You know he used to warn me that there are no guarantees in life. He reckoned the only thing you can be sure of is that the angles of a triangle will always add up to one hundred and eighty degrees.’
‘Sounds like he got one or two nasty shocks along the way.’
‘Well, yes. He worked as a draftsman for the same company for thirty-five years and then suddenly they made him redundant.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just like that. Downsizing they called it. Profits were more important than loyal and talented employees.’
Sam’s jaw clenched and he swung away so that he no longer looked at her. ‘Sometimes the guys running big companies have to make difficult choices.’
‘And their answers are always about money,’ she responded bitterly.
‘Money,’ he repeated grimly. His hand was still resting on her and suddenly he smiled at her again and obviously decided to have his own stab at changing the subject. ‘As you accepted my apology so nicely this afternoon, we can start afresh, can’t we?’
Meg was sure she should have clarified exactly what Sam thought they were starting. But perhaps it was the setting, or her loneliness, or even moonlight madness, but she suddenly didn’t want to be wary or cautious any more. ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I guess we can.’
‘You know,’ Sam told her. ‘We actually have more in common than you might be prepared to admit. I used to haunt the Seattle Aquarium when I was a boy. Tell me some more about the reef.’
Realising that he’d cleverly selected a topic she loved to talk about, she was happy to cooperate. ‘Something I find very interesting is the coral-spawning that takes place every year. Have you heard about it?’
‘I do remember reading something.’
‘Marine scientists made the discovery here on this island. Every piece of coral on the Great Barrier Reef, even pieces in buckets and aquariums, becomes fertile and spawns in mass at a certain full moon in spring.’ Her eyes danced. ‘It’s been described as the world’s biggest sexual encounter.’
‘World’s biggest sexual encounter?’ Sam repeated with a lazy smile and his gaze speared hers so intently she felt breathless and more than a little warm. ‘That’s exceptionally interesting.’
She couldn’t help chuckling. ‘Well, I don’t know who actually judges these things.’
He turned towards her so that both his hands could grasp her shoulders. ‘I warned you earlier, Meg, I can’t resist a challenge.’
His face was in shadow but, as she heard the unmistakable rumble of desire in his voice, flames of unexpected heat darted through Meg. She wondered what she could do about her growing interest in getting close to this man. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting you want to compete with the entire Great Barrier Reef?’ she asked in a strained, tight voice.
‘I’m going to make a start.’ His gaze centred on her mouth. ‘I’m not planning to be upstaged by coral polyps.’
She knew then what was going to happen and she let it.
For the second time, Meg offered absolutely no resistance when he drew her closer. She had a desperate feeling that she had as much chance of resisting Sam Kirby as the tides had of resisting the pull of the moon. Fleetingly, she wondered if this was what destiny felt like.
In spite of her rules about guests, she had never felt so willing, so wanting to be enclosed in a man’s arms.
Her heart jolted unsteadily as Sam’s lips roamed her mouth and her own lips parted, as open and needy as a desert flower welcoming rain. His kiss deepened and, with a whimper of pleasure, she surrendered to his invasion. Sam tasted wonderful. His hard, strong body felt divine. Wanting more, she crushed herself shamelessly against him, as if she was afraid the world might end any minute and she would miss out on this vital experience.
Yesterday, Sam’s kiss had been friendly and gentle. Tonight it quickly became wicked, wild and threatening. And Meg loved it! She loved the heat of his tongue as it plundered her mouth.