by Joan Kilby
LEXIE SHUT OFF the water and stepped out of the shower. She was reaching for a towel when the door bell rang. She dried herself hastily, wondering who could be calling at nine in the evening. She threw on a pale blue silk dressing gown and hurried barefoot down the hall.
Ding Dong.
“Hold your horses,” she called, and opened the door.
“Hey, Lexie.” Rafe stood on her doorstep.
“Rafe!” She pressed a hand to her heart. “What are you doing here? I thought you would have spent the evening with your friends.”
“All that fresh air exhausted them.” He presented her with a bucket. “I brought you some fish. Fancy a late dinner?”
“Thanks.” She peered at two beautiful snapper, cleaned and scaled, nestled on ice. Then she looked back at Rafe, sexier than a man had any right to be in a jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans. His hair was slightly damp. He must have showered, too, before he came over.
“I’ve already eaten but I can always put away some fresh fish.”
“Is my first mate welcome, too?”
Lexie laughed. “Why not?”
Rafe glanced over his shoulder and whistled. Murphy poked his head out of the open window of the Mazda. He didn’t need any further invitation to leap through and bound up the path to the front door.
She stepped back, suddenly aware that the thin silk of her dressing gown was sticking to her. “Take these to the kitchen,” she said, handing the bucket back to him. “I’ll go get dressed.”
Then she fled down the hall to her bedroom. What to wear? Jeans, a skirt…sexy lingerie? She pulled open a drawer and started dragging clothes out and throwing them on her bed.
“Lexie?” Rafe stood outside her open doorway. He’d taken his jacket off and his arms were tanned and strong below the sleeves of his T-shirt. “What did you do with the frying pan?”
“It’s in the fridge, full of leftover fried rice. I was caught up in painting. I’ll clean it out in a minute.”
“Take your time.” He started to leave.
Lexie reached for the garment on the top of the pile. It was a wraparound skirt. She heard footsteps returning and fumbled with the tie, trying to loosen it from its slot—
And then Rafe was right there, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, enveloping her with his scent and his heat and his strength. “I love you.”
He loved her.
Emotion welled up in her, choking her.
“I should have said it before,” he went on. “I love you. Please don’t send me away again.”
She turned in his arms and pressed her face against his chest. She could hear his heart racing. Then he was pushing back her hair, lifting her chin, seeking her lips with his own.
She twined herself around him, kissing his neck, his stubbled jaw.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t love me right away,” he said. “Just give me a chance. I’ll prove I’m not going anywhere.”
“Rafe.” She could hardly speak for the lump in her throat. “I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
He took her mouth in a long deep kiss, running his hands over her shoulders and down her back. “I’ve missed you. You don’t know how hard it’s been to keep away.”
She eased back to look at him. “I almost called you so many times.”
Rafe released her and swept the clothes off her bed. He glanced around and then dumped them on top of her dresser. Then he sat on the bed and opened his arms. “Come here.”
Lexie went to him. He laid her down and kissed her. His hand slipped inside her dressing gown to cup her breast. She pushed her fingers through his hair, marveling at how silky it felt. She moved her mouth over his lips, his jaw and down his neck, taking in his male heat and the salty taste of his skin.
She let her gown slip open, an invitation to touch her.
But in spite of the hard ridge inside his jeans he seemed content to kiss and fondle her above the waist.
His callused thumb rasped over her nipple and she moaned softly. Impatient, she eased back and started to undo the stud on his jeans.
His hand stilled hers. “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, you weren’t hurt inside from losing the baby?”
“My doctor gave me the all clear.”
He kissed her again. “But we’ll take it slow.”
Her smile spread. “I like it slow.”
Rafe shucked his jeans and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Lying on his side, he parted her dressing gown and stroked one full breast then dipped to her belly.
Lexie brushed the hair off his forehead. He lifted his gaze and found her watching him. A rush of warmth welled in him that he couldn’t have imagined feeling a few short months ago.
He slid up and kissed her again, kissed her tears away. Gradually the tenor of their caresses changed. She shifted beneath him, opening her arms, opening herself. The blue of her eyes deepened.
Rafe leaned over the side of the bed and pulled a condom out of his jeans pocket. “If you get pregnant again it’s going to be because we planned it.”
Lexie took it from him and ripped the package open. She sheathed him, rolling the condom on so slowly he thought he was going to lose his mind. The need to be inside her became overwhelming.
Rafe rocked forward, pushing into her, his body taut. She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him deeper. He tried to hold back but she was moving faster now, her breath coming in pants. His need built with each thrust. Lexie’s eyes, scant inches away, were all he saw. Then her body arched and her head fell back, eyes closing. Feeling her dissolve beneath him, Rafe let go….
LEXIE AWOKE the next morning to the phone ringing. Sleepily she raised her head to look at the clock. Ten o’clock. Rafe murmured in his sleep and his arm around her tightened. His thick dark hair was tousled and the tangled sheets had slipped to his hips.
Lexie eased herself out of bed regretfully and ran lightly down the hall. She followed the sound of her cell phone to the dining table and found it next to a stack of old mail.
“Hello?” she said.
“This is Andrea McCall from the Archibald Prize Foundation at the Art Gallery of New South Wales,” a woman said. “May I speak with Ms. Lexie Thatcher?”
Lexie’s mouth dried. Her heart racing, she said, “This is she.”
“Lexie,” Andrea went on less formally. “I’m very pleased to tell you that your painting, Sienna, has been chosen as a finalist.”
“Oh, my God! I can’t believe it,” Lexie squealed, dancing on the spot. “Thank you!”
“You’ll receive an official notice in the mail,” Andrea went on. “Plus an invitation to the awards luncheon.”
“Can I bring a guest?” Lexie asked.
“You may fill one table with guests. Each table seats ten.”
“Fantastic!” Lexie said. “My whole family can come.”
Andrea bade her goodbye to continue making her calls. Lexie hung up feeling as if she was walking on air. She picked up a sleeping Yin and twirled around, making the cat’s eyes widen with alarm. “I did it! I’m a finalist!”
She set Yin down and ran back to her bedroom. Rafe was groggily opening his eyes and stretching.
“Get up!” She pounced on him. “My portrait of Sienna finaled in the Archibald! We’re going to Sydney.”
Rafe rubbed his eyes. “Now?”
“In two weeks.” She grinned like an idiot.
“In that case,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “We’ve got time for a cuddle.”
“DID YOU BRING your blue dress that matches the robe in the painting?” Lexie said to Sienna, waving her glass of champagne. “You have to wear the blue dress.”
The whole family—Hetty and Steve; Jack, Sienna and Oliver; Renita, Brett and Tegan; Lexie and Rafe—had booked a four-bedroom suite in the Sofitel Hotel in Sydney where the awards luncheon was being held. They’d arrived en masse in taxis from the airport and immediately called room service to order champagne.
�
�I’ll wear the blue dress, even though no one will be looking at me. You’re the star.” Sienna glanced around at the assembled family and raised her glass of champagne. “To Lexie!”
“To Lexie! To winning the prize! Hear, hear!” came a chorus of murmured toasts.
Lexie grinned and sipped her drink although she didn’t need champagne to give her a bubbly feeling. Thank goodness Rafe’s arm was wrapped firmly around her waist or she might have floated away. She glanced up at him, aglow with excitement. His return smile warmed her.
“We’d better get ready.” Renita put down her glass and got up from the couch. She gave her sister a hug. “I’m so excited for you.”
Brett touched Lexie’s shoulder as he passed. “You’re going to win.”
Lexie put her hands over her ears. “Don’t jinx me.”
Everyone went back to their rooms to get ready for the luncheon. Lexie had bought a new dress for the occasion, pale blue linen over which she cinched a stretchy belt with a huge silver buckle. Her long hair she left loose, a tangle of blond curls around her shoulders.
“Everyone expects me to win,” she said to Rafe, slipping long dangly silver earrings into her ears. “What if I don’t?”
“I don’t expect you to win,” Rafe said, putting on his jacket. When Lexie’s eyebrows rose, he explained, “There are thirty-four finalists. The odds are terrible.”
“You’re right.” Lexie stepped into her high heels. “In some strange way, that makes me feel better.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Rafe said, cupping her face to kiss her. “I think your painting is amazing. And I hope you win for your sake. But if you don’t, you’ll still be a terrific artist.”
“Thank you.” Lexie stretched up and kissed him. “But you have to admit, the money would come in handy.”
Rafe hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. “I wasn’t going to tell you this yet but…Larry called yesterday. He offered me my job back.”
Lexie rocked back on her heels to search his face. “What did you say?”
“I told him I’d have to think about it.” His mouth twisted. “As you say, we could use the money.”
“Don’t do it,” Lexie said fiercely. “You love the boat. You’ve had two fishing charters already. And there’s your freelance accounting.”
“Those two charters taught me how much I have to learn about this business. I got the wrong bait. Some of the guys weren’t happy. Besides, the money I’ve earned so far won’t pay the bills.” He shrugged. “Larry’s offer is something to consider.”
Lexie thought about it as they rode down in the elevator. What Rafe hadn’t said was, they were a unit now. He wanted to be able to provide for her, as well, when her paintings weren’t selling. She’d paid the first installment on her taxes but there was another due next week. Rafe was trying to take the pressure off her by saying he didn’t care if she won or not.
But she cared. She wanted that $50,000 prize money. It would be enough to pay her taxes and penalties and tide Rafe over until he got his business on its feet. So he wouldn’t ever have to go back to the tax office.
The ballroom at the hotel was rapidly filling with finalists and guests as Lexie and her entourage made their way across the carpeted lobby. They showed their tickets at the door and were directed to their table up front.
Lexie tried to enjoy lunch, to savor the moment. Between courses she met Andrea McCall, the judging panelists, and chatted with some of her fellow finalists. The speeches seemed to go on forever. All she could think about was what winning would mean to her and Rafe.
On the stage, Andrea tapped the microphone. “The time has come, ladies and gentlemen, to give out the award for the Archibald Prize. The finalists are…” And she read out the long list of names.
Lexie’s spirits sank. She’d known there were lots but to hear them all…
Beneath the table, Rafe took her hand and murmured into her ear, “And the winner is…Lexie Thatcher.”
“Stop that,” she said, laughing nervously. “Not funny.”
“And now for the award. We only announce the winner and the runner up. In second place is…” Andrea opened an envelope, scanned the contents and spoke into the microphone. “Alexander Greene.”
A round of applause broke out over the ballroom. Alexander Greene, a bearded man in his sixties wear ing a dinner jacket over jeans up went to receive his plaque.
When he’d returned to his seat, Andrea said, “And now, for first prize….”
Lexie’s grip tightened on Rafe’s hand. She glanced around the table. Jack gave her a thumbs-up. Hetty smiled encouragement. Renita, sitting next to her, gave her a hug. Steve was facing the stage but he glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Brett, Sienna, Oliver and Tegan all glanced her way before turning at the sound of the envelope being opened.
She exchanged a quick glance with Rafe. He smiled nervously. She held her breath.
“The winner is…”
Lexie Thatcher. Lexie Thatcher. Lexie Thatcher.
“Julianne Mayer!”
Lexie was enclosed in a bubble, surrounded by the roar of applause, separated from every other person by a transparent sphere of disappointment. Dimly she was aware of herself clapping for the winner. Smiling and shrugging at her sympathetic family. “It’s fine. I’m good. It doesn’t matter. Being a finalist is reward enough.”
Part of her truly believed that. Part of her believed that simply having painted the best work of her career to date more than compensated for not winning. She didn’t care about the accolades or the money for its own sake. She’d long ago accepted that borderline poverty was the price she paid for doing what she did.
But still. It would have been nice to win.
“Don’t call Larry,” she said, putting her hand on Rafe’s arm. “We’ll get by, somehow.”
LEXIE HAD just closed the front door behind her when the phone began to ring inside the house.
“Leave it,” Rafe said. “We’ll miss the sunset.”
A week had passed since the Archibald Prize luncheon. Rafe was doing everything he could to make it up to her for the disappointments she’d had—first the baby, then losing the prize. This evening they were going out on the boat for a romantic cruise, just the two of them. And of course, Murphy, the first mate.
The phone continued to ring.
Lexie hesitated, looked over her shoulder. “I feel strange. Kind of prickly all over. I want to answer that.”
“Get it then,” Rafe said. “Murphy and I will be in the car.”
She went back inside.
Rafe held the back door open and whistled. Murphy hopped in. Rafe got into the driver’s seat and rolled down the window. He was tuning the radio to a classical station when Lexie stepped onto the porch.
With her graceful figure in cotton fisherman pants and a fitted top, she was quite a picture. The thought flashed through him, I am a lucky man.
“Rafe. Guess what?” She was grinning like a fool.
“What?” he asked, laughing.
“That was Samuel. The National Gallery of Victoria wants to buy my portrait of Sienna.”
“That’s good.” He turned the key in the ignition.
“Good? You don’t understand. It’s fantastic.” She got into the car and threw her arms around his neck. “It’s better than the Archibald Prize. Sixty-five thou sand dollars!”
“Not bad for a few months’ work.” He was teasing her, making her think he didn’t understand what a huge deal this was. “Does this mean we’ll be able to afford chicken with our two-minute noodles?”
“Hell, we’ll be able to eat filet mignon.” She went quiet as she fastened her seat belt. Then she glanced at him. “Maybe we’ll stick to rump steak for a while.”
He gave up the pretense and hugged her enthusiastically. “Rump steak, chicken—who cares? Congratulations, Lexie! I always knew you were the best. And now the whole country will, too.”
Rafe backed out of the driveway and set off down the quiet r
esidential street toward the glassy bay where the setting sun was already turning the water to molten gold.
He reached for Lexie’s hand and felt her fingers squeeze his. Some people might say the odds were against them as a couple….
But he thought they just might be on a winning streak.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8847-2
TWO AGAINST THE ODDS
Copyright © 2011 by Joan Kilby
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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*Summerside Stories
Table of Contents
Letter to Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Books by Joan Kilby
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
CHAPTER FIFTEEN