Executive: Expecting Tiny Twins

by Barbara Hannay

  He stared at her as she stood there, her flowing curves outlined against the rectangle of blue sky. He remembered her eagerness both this morning and last night.

  Why would a beautiful, passionate woman like Lizzie Green reject a living, breathing lover and choose an anonymous donation in a syringe?

  ‘Hell, Lizzie, if you wanted a baby, all you had to do was put the word out. Blokes would have been lining up.’

  I would have been there at the head of the queue.

  Jack grimaced, aware that after two kisses the possessiveness he felt for her was totally unjustified.

  On the far side of the room, she leaned against the wall, looking down at her hands, twisting them anxiously. ‘I hope I didn’t sound flippant about the donor. The decision wasn’t made lightly.’

  ‘But it doesn’t make sense.’ Jack’s voice rang loudly in the quiet room, echoing his confusion. ‘How can an anonymous donor be the best option?’

  A wistful smile tilted her mouth. ‘That’s not easy to explain. It’s why I’m here at Savannah. Avoiding that very question, because I know that whatever I say, there’ll be people who won’t understand. I don’t want journalists hounding me, asking stupid questions, blowing my story out of proportion and whipping up the public’s emotions.’

  ‘But you can’t hide here for ever. You’ll have to explain eventually.’

  ‘Yes.’ Arms crossed, Lizzie drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. ‘I just wanted time to get used to being pregnant, and to make sure everything’s OK with the baby before I face the music. Ideally, I’d keep this quiet until the baby’s safely delivered.’

  ‘Is there much chance of that?’

  Lizzie shrugged. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t hide for ever. But I’m sure people will react differently when there’s a real live baby to show them, but right now the focus will be on the whys and hows of the pregnancy, and most people can’t understand why I chose to go solo.’

  And who could blame most people? Jack thought grimly. ‘I can’t promise to understand, but I’d like to hear your explanation,’ he said.

  Her smile was doubtful. ‘Of course.’

  At least she came back to sit on the couch.

  Jack sat, too. At the opposite end.

  In a perfect world, Lizzie would have kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her, settling in for a cosy, heart-to-heart chat.

  No, in a perfect world she would have been in his arms, continuing where their kiss left off.

  Instead, she began to trace the leafy pattern of the upholstery with her forefinger. ‘It’s hard to know where to start. It’s not as if I woke up one morning and thought I’d like to have a sperm-donor baby. The idea more or less evolved.’

  She lifted a hand to rub her brow as if it would help to clarify her thoughts. ‘I’d been so focused on my career, you see, and on other people’s problems. Throw in a couple of unlucky love affairs, and I was nearing forty before I realised I was missing out on things that were really important to me.’

  ‘Like a family?’

  ‘Yes, a family.’

  ‘But most women start with a partner.’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘That was my dream once, to find a partner first, then have a baby.’

  ‘But?’ Jack gestured for her to answer.

  Lizzie hesitated.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never found another man to step into MacCallum’s shoes.’

  ‘Oh, I found one, all right. Problem was, he fitted those shoes only too well.’ Her eyes glinted with the threat of tears, but she managed a shaky smile. ‘An upwardly mobile corporate banker. Head of a couple of investment companies. We were together twelve months and I thought he was serious.’

  Her mouth opened as if she was about to say more, then changed her mind. ‘Can I ask you a question, Jack?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Why aren’t you married?’

  ‘I—I—’An uncomfortable sensation blocked his throat. He swallowed. ‘I guess I haven’t looked all that hard, but—’ he shrugged ‘—I haven’t found the right woman.’

  ‘Exactly. And I haven’t found anyone I was happy to marry, but I chose a donor because I’m fussy. Not because there were no men available.’

  Her mouth twisted in an embarrassed smile. ‘It’s really hard to talk about this to a man, especially after—’

  ‘After we’ve just kissed each other into tomorrow,’ Jack supplied in a grating tone. ‘What was that about, Lizzie? Don’t tell me you were simply happy to see me.’

  The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘You jumped the gate—and I got caught up in the moment—and then we got a bit carried away.’

  Blushing, she stared at a spot on the carpet. ‘I said I’m sorry, Jack.’

  He shrugged. There was no point in carrying on like a whipped puppy. He had no doubt that Lizzie enjoyed a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and it was sobering to know that she hadn’t found one guy who measured up to her high standards. Damn it, how high were these standards anyway?

  He was still mulling over this when she said, ‘The thing is I simply wasn’t prepared to marry some poor unsuspecting man just because I wanted a baby.’ She met his gaze and her hazel eyes flashed. ‘It’s not a very honest reason to tie the knot, is it?’

  What could Jack say? ‘I—I guess not.’

  ‘I gave it a lot of thought,’ she added, finally kicking off her shoes, as if she could relax now that her confession was complete.

  Unhappily, Jack watched as she curled into her corner of the sofa with the unconscious grace of a cat. He thought about the way he’d thundered back to the homestead this morning, confident that he should try again with her.

  Arriving at that decision had felt good, really good, and he’d taken the stockyard gate in a burst of triumph, and then Lizzie had met him, her face glowing, full of smiles and kisses…

  Now, she began to speak again, earnestly, as if she felt compelled to explain and justify every reason why their kiss had been a mistake.

  ‘Single mothers can do a great job. My mother’s a prime example. She gave my sisters and me a very happy childhood. Being raised by a good single mum has to be better than being raised in a bad marriage.’

  Jack couldn’t argue with that. His parents’ marriage had been desperately unhappy, and his childhood had been blighted by their endless fights and arguments. He could remember lying in bed at night, head beneath the pillow, fingers jammed in his ears, trying to shut out their bitter, angry voices.

  ‘What about your father?’ he said. ‘Was he happy for your mother to keep you to herself?’

  ‘Actually, no.’ Lizzie dropped her gaze. ‘Not that I knew much about my father when I was a child. It was only later when I came to live with him that I realised how hurt and excluded he’d felt. That’s another reason I settled on a sperm donor. Knowing how Dad felt, I knew that an affair with someone just to create a baby would cause all sorts of emotional fallout.’

  No question about that, Jack thought. Lots of guys took being a father pretty seriously.

  After the rough time he’d had with his old man, he’d spent a lot of time thinking about the fatherhood role. He couldn’t deny that some fathers were jerks, but all his married mates were nuts about their kids, and he’d always reckoned that he would be, too, when his turn came.

  ‘So,’ Lizzie said, watching him carefully. ‘That’s my story. I—I hope you understand.’

  Jack swallowed. He hated the thought of Lizzie facing parenthood alone. It seemed such a waste. But, clearly, it was none of his business.

  ‘You put up a fair case,’ he said.

  ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘But this doesn’t mean you’re staying clear of men for ever, does it?’

  Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘I—ah—haven’t made any plans past my baby’s delivery.’

  A pulse thundered in Jack’s throat. Lizzie mightn’t have made plans, but he’d had plans. His plans had involved exploring every inch of h
er luscious skin. He’d planned to make love to her with finesse and passion.

  Now his plans were toast, and this morning’s notions were nothing but a bag of bulldust. Hell, there was no point in even thinking about getting closer. Lizzie was focused on her baby. She didn’t need or want a man in her life. And why would he want to be there, anyway?

  Why would he want to be involved with a woman who came with so much baggage—a headache career, and now a baby that wouldn’t even know its own dad?

  No, thank you.

  Jack cleared his throat, eager to put an end to this conversation. ‘If I sounded critical, I apologise. I spoke out of turn. You have every right to make your own decisions. It’s your life, your baby.’

  He stood quickly, forced a quick smile as he tried to ignore the tempting picture she made, curled on the sofa, tanned legs glowing, dark hair shining in a stream of sunlight. ‘I’m sure you’re busy.’ Already, he was heading for the door. ‘So I’ll let you get on with your work.’

  It was time to get out of here.

  His previously hazy reasons for staying clear of Lizzie were multiplying madly and already he was telling himself he’d had a lucky escape. It was time to get out of there before he said or did something foolish. There was no point in turning a bad situation into a flaming disaster.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STANDING at the open doorway of her room, Lizzie looked at the sunburnt plains, while she applied herself to the extraordinarily difficult task of not missing Jack.

  He’d headed off somewhere to work, and she’d come here to her room—to work—but it was proving impossible. Jack was front, back and centre of her thoughts.

  No doubt he was puzzled and possibly upset after she’d rushed out to greet him with kisses, then retreated, and promptly delivered the news of her pregnancy.

  How could she have been so irresponsible? She prided herself on her prudence. She’d never been reckless around men. Well…not after she’d learned two very difficult lessons. But now, to her shame, she couldn’t stop thinking about Jack’s kiss.

  Even though she’d stopped it, and delivered a speech that ensured it would never be repeated, he’d ignited a craving in her.

  Lizzie knew it was wrong. Regret was such a useless emotion.

  She’d never been a thrill-seeker, had never been bothered by any kind of addiction, not even to chocolate, but now every cell in her body screamed for the return of Jack’s lips. She wanted his mouth, teasing and warm, on her skin. She longed for—

  Enough.

  Angry at her weakness, she whirled away from the doorway, sat down at her desk and clicked on her Internet connection. Listening to the internal whirring of her laptop, she watched a raft of emails download. Her heart leapt when she saw a different name sitting in the middle of the familiar addresses of work colleagues.

  Isabella Casali. Her cousin. At last, a message from Monta Correnti.

  Lizzie smiled with relief as she opened the message. She’d been worried.

  The message was in English. Isabella was proud of her language skills and loved to use English whenever she could.

  Dearest Lizzie,

  I’m sorry I haven’t answered your emails before now. Papa’s not at all well, so I’m in charge of ‘Rosa’, and we’ve been really busy. I’ve been run off my feet.

  I hope you and your baby are fine, and keeping well. Are you still holed up in that place in the outback? It must be fascinating. A totally different world.

  Now, let me tell you about Max. Forgive me, Lizzie, while I have a small rave. Max is wonderful. I’m so happy. I can’t believe how sweet he is to me. His love still feels like a miracle.

  A miracle. Lizzie sensed a wealth of happiness in Isabella’s word choice and she was really pleased for her cousin, but she also felt an inexplicable stab of jealousy.

  I’m afraid I haven’t seen your mother. I’ve been too busy.

  And too upset with my mother, Lizzie thought. Fair enough, too.

  So far, there has been no news of the twins. As you know, I really wanted to go to New York to find them, but Papa can’t spare me. Actually, this message will have to be brief as I have so much to do, and there’s a problem in the kitchen.

  I’ll try harder to keep in touch.

  Ciao,

  Isabella.

  Lizzie let out a sigh of relief, pleased to finally have contact from someone at home. After all these years in Australia, she still thought of Monta Correnti as her home.

  If only her family could be more harmonious.

  She thought of her mother—stunningly beautiful, fiercely independent, still harbouring deep resentment towards her half-brother, Luca.

  It was such a pity. Why was she still so angry, after all this time? Why couldn’t she let go?

  On an impulse, Lizzie dialled her mother’s number, but she only got her answering machine. She left a brief message. ‘Thinking of you, Mama. Love you. I’m well. Please get in touch when you’re free. Ciao.’

  Over the next few days, Lizzie saw very little of Jack. He seemed to be extra busy with station work and she kept busy, too, working at her desk, and taking short morning walks and even shorter afternoon rests. She told herself that she was pleased at last to be able to give her full attention to the books she’d brought.

  Jack’s busyness was a good thing. This distancing from each other was highly desirable. It was exactly what she needed. Now she could focus on her work and her baby, the two things that mattered.

  Everything else, including Jack, was a distraction. She only wished she didn’t have to tell herself this so many times. Every day.

  She saw Jack at mealtimes, of course, and they continued to share the cooking. But while they talked easily about their different worlds, and she felt they both enjoyed getting to know more and more about each other, Jack was careful to keep any inference of flirtation out of their conversation. There were no stolen kisses. No sparkling glances. No touching.

  It was a shock to learn that, despite the endless lectures she’d given herself, she missed the sizzle that had simmered between them. It was hard, really hard to let it go. To her dismay, she still found Jack incredibly attractive.

  Too often, way too often, she had wicked fantasies.

  One afternoon, she was busy answering an email from Canberra when she heard Jack’s footsteps on the veranda, and she froze, fingers poised above the keyboard, listening with her full attention.

  He went past her room, and turned into his room, and she heard his shower taps turn on. She tried—honestly, she did try—to stop herself from imagining him standing there, naked. She tried not to picture the soap bubbles sliding over his shiny bronzed shoulders, slipping down his muscly chest. Then lower.

  Heat flared like tiny bushfires inside her. The picture of Jack sprang into painfully clear focus. She could see the gleaming slickness of his wet skin stretched over bands of muscles. She thought how blissfully liberating it would be to run her hands over his bare back, then over his front.

  It wasn’t till the sound of the water stopped abruptly that her common sense slammed a door on her thoughts.

  For heaven’s sake, how could she have forgotten so much, so quickly? Why was it so hard to remember she was a forty-year-old, pregnant woman, who’d chosen, yes, chosen to be a single mother?

  Three evenings later, after another carefully polite and unsatisfactory dinner conversation, she ran into Jack. Literally.

  It happened in the hallway, when she was coming back from the bathroom, after a long and supposedly calming soak in the tub. She’d wrapped a towel around her wet hair and she was wearing her white towelling bathrobe—nothing else—and her skin was warm and flushed and smelling of rose and lavender bath oil.

  She’d used up almost all of Kate’s collection of bath oils, and she’d made a note to try to buy some more.

  She’d been reading in the bath till her toes were frilly, and she was carrying the thick paperback novel back to her room, intending to continue rea
ding in bed. She had her head down, checking that she’d marked her place, when she banged into Jack.

  The book fell to the floor.

  ‘Sorry!’ they both cried at once, and simultaneously they both stooped to retrieve the book.

  What happened then was quite strange, like something out of a movie. Lizzie was bending down, conscious that her bath robe was gaping, revealing quite a bit of her cleavage, pink and perfumed from her bath, but instead of feeling embarrassed, or coy, instead of modestly adjusting the robe, she was frozen, as still as a statue, mesmerised by Jack.

  He was kneeling inches from her, and they were both holding her book, staring at each other, breathing unevenly as if they’d run a hard race.

  She could feel his heat, enveloping her like a mysterious fog, and they rose in slow motion, still holding the book. In unison, Jack took a step towards her and she took a step back, and it was like dancing a slow waltz.

  Lizzie found herself against the cool paintwork of the hallway, holding her book. Trapped by Jack. His hands were now on the wall, on either side of her head, and she had stopped breathing.

  Stopped thinking, had become nothing but a mass of wanting.

  He was close. So close. Touching close. Kissing close. She could see each individual pinprick of his beard, and the surprising softness of his lips.

  Her body was hot and tight with wanting.

  Through the open neck of her bathrobe, Jack’s fingers traced her skin, burning a trail from her throat to between her breasts, making her gasp.

  ‘Lizzie,’ he whispered and he smiled directly into her eyes. ‘You know you only have to ask.’ His mouth brushed a nerve-tingling, fiery sweep over her lips.

  Then he stepped away, turned down the hallway, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Somehow, Lizzie made her way back to her room, where she fell in a trembling mess onto her bed. She was shocked by the strength of her desire for Jack, by the force of her aching, physical longing.