You only have to ask…
She wasn’t going to ask. She couldn’t possibly ask, could she? She was so much older than he was, and pregnant. How could he find her desirable?
You only have to ask…
His words wouldn’t leave her alone. They danced in her head like haunting, beautiful music. Like tendrils of enchanted smoke, they curled around her heart.
Only have to ask…
The idea was so alluring. Jack was so disturbingly attractive, and she’d been alone for so long.
But it was a mistake for all kinds of reasons. It was, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
With one touch, Jack had destroyed her certainty.
Jack couldn’t quite believe he’d said that to Lizzie.
You only have to ask.
Fool. He needed his head read.
Except…he hadn’t been thinking with his head.
Lizzie had been there, practically naked, fresh from the bath and smelling of every temptation known to man, her skin so soft and pink and warm, her mouth trembling in anticipation of his kiss.
Thank God he’d managed to resist.
There was now a long list of ways she was wrong for him. After a childhood locked in a rigid career pattern, he was finally happy with his life. Why spoil it by getting involved with Lizzie and the complications of her high profile career, her ambition, her lifestyle, her pregnancy with another man’s baby?
Problem was, he knew all that, but he still wanted her like crazy.
You only have to ask.
As if she would ask. He might be a fool, but Lizzie had her head screwed on.
And yet…
He’d seen the flash of disappointment in her eyes when he’d backed away. If he were a gambling man, he’d bet that he still had a chance.
That evening there was an email from Isabella. Lizzie clicked on it eagerly, keen for more news of her family and relieved to be distracted from her latest dilemmas over Jack.
Hi Lizzie,
I have such good news and I’m so excited. I’ve managed to track down Alessandro and Angelo’s contact details, and I’m going to send emails introducing myself as their sister.
Actually, there’s some other news, but I’m not sure that I should tell you.
Lizzie’s heart gave a sickening thud when she read this sentence. She closed her eyes, not wanting to read the rest of Isabella’s message. In her everyday life, she never avoided bad news, but this was different, this was family, and she felt a flicker of fear like the darting of a snake’s tongue.
She opened her eyes and kept reading.
My father told me something today, something very disturbing. I’m sorry, Lizzie. I’m afraid it concerns Lisa.
I guess you’re bound to hear some time, so I wanted to warn you, but I think it would be better if you heard it from your mother.
I hope I’m not scaring you, Lizzie. It’s not an emergency. Your mother isn’t sick. But I think you should ask her to explain her behaviour when my father went to her for help. I’m sorry if that sounds terribly cryptic, but that’s all I want to say at the moment.
Love,
Isabella.
Appalled, Lizzie read the message again, trying to make sense of it. Ask her to explain her behaviour when my father went to her for help.
What could her mother have done?
Acid rose, filling Lizzie’s throat.
As a child, she’d idolised her mother. Lisa Firenzi was regally beautiful, strongly independent, and the successful owner of Monta Correnti’s most sophisticated restaurant. Lizzie’s ideal woman.
Even after Lizzie had come to Australia to be close to her father, she’d modelled herself on Lisa. Her mother’s example of self-sufficiency and feminine triumph was the one thing that had saved Lizzie when Mitch MacCallum had so heartlessly thrown her aside. It had helped again years later when Toby the banker had caused so much grief.
There’d been many times during her political career when Lizzie had used Lisa’s strength as inspiration.
Without her mother as a role model, she might never have embarked on this pregnancy…
But what have you done, Mama?
It was a question she hardly dared to ask, but, unhappily, she knew she had no choice. Lizzie knew she must ask it, even though she was positive she wouldn’t like the answer.
Her hands were shaking as she picked up her phone and began to press the buttons.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JACK stopped outside Lizzie’s bedroom door.
He thought he’d heard crying, but that was impossible. Lizzie was so strong. He’d seen that with his own eyes, and he’d been reading on the Internet about her reputation for being a particularly tough senator.
Apparently, Lizzie had rarely let the opposition break her down, and he couldn’t imagine her collapsing into a fit of weeping, but when he leaned closer to the door there could be no mistake. Lizzie was definitely crying. No, it was worse than that. She was sobbing uncontrollably, as if her heart would break.
Alarmed, Jack tapped on her door, but she was crying so loudly she couldn’t hear him. He gave the door a gentle push, and it swung forward to reveal Lizzie sprawled on her bed, abandoned in misery, her face red, tear-stained, twisted with despair, her body shaking.
The sight sliced into Jack. At first he was too shocked to think, but then he raced through possibilities.
Was there a problem with the baby? A miscarriage?
He felt a slug of fear, but almost immediately reasoned that if there were pregnancy complications Lizzie would have come to him for help. She was too smart to suffer in silence. She would have asked him to take her to a doctor.
No, this had to be something else. Worse? Jack couldn’t bear to see her like this. His impulse was to sweep her into his arms, to hold her close, to soothe her, as if she were a child. But he was uncomfortably aware that she wouldn’t welcome such intimacy from him.
Uncertain and anxious, he hovered near the end of her bed. His eyes hunted her room for clues. It was all very tidy. Nothing appeared to be amiss. Her laptop had been turned off, but there was a mobile phone lying on the bed beside her. He wondered if she’d heard bad news.
Abruptly, as if she’d sensed his presence, she lifted her head and saw him, and then she sat up quickly, her hands flying to swipe at her tears.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Jack said. ‘But I couldn’t help hearing how upset you were and I was worried. I was hoping I might be able to help somehow.’
She swiped again at her tear-streaked face. ‘That’s kind, but no. It’s just—’ Her face crumpled and she gestured frantically towards her desk in the corner. ‘Could you pass me that box of tissues?’
Jack did so quickly, and she pulled out a great wad of tissues and mopped at her face and blew her nose. When she’d finished, she dumped the damp clump on the bedside table, and tried, unsuccessfully, to smile.
‘I must look a fright.’
‘I don’t scare easily.’ He was relieved. Things couldn’t be too disastrous if Lizzie was worried about her appearance. ‘Anyway, a red nose looks good on you.’
This time she did manage a faint, shaky smile.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do, Lizzie?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s just—’ Her hands flapped in a gesture of helplessness. ‘My crazy family in Italy. Sometimes I just want to—’
She stopped, and sat there looking lost, and Jack’s heart went out to her. Everything about her sent a message of huge need—the deep emotion in her eyes, the vulnerable droop of her shoulders, the lingering tremor of her soft lips, her hands now twisting a tissue to shreds.
When she looked up directly into his eyes, he read a silent entreaty to take her in his arms, to kiss away her tears, to sweep her away from whatever was troubling her.
Or was he getting carried away?
Prudently, he remained still. It would be all too easy to take advantage of Lizzie’s vulnerability—but right now
he simply wanted to help her.
He cleared his throat. ‘Can I get you something? A cup of tea?’
Inside, he winced. He sounded like a doddering aunt who believed all the world’s problems could be solved by a cup of tea.
Lizzie looked surprised, too. She blinked at him. ‘Tea would be lovely. Thank you, Jack.’
‘Hang in there,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll be back in two shakes.’
She gave him a bleak smile. ‘I’ll go wash my face.’
Lizzie hurried to the bathroom, filled the basin with warm water, and washed her face with liberal splashes.
Normally, she hated to cry, but tonight after her phone call to her mother, she’d felt so alone, she’d more or less collapsed. Now, with her face washed and patted dry, she was already better. Cleansed. Calmer.
She took a cautious glimpse in the mirror, saw that her eyes and nose were still red and swollen.
At least she felt more composed. Actually, she’d begun to calm down when she’d discovered Jack standing at the end of her bed. He’d looked wonderful standing there, so tall and handsome and reliable in his old blue jeans and a faded brown countryman’s shirt. A steadying anchor.
She was very grateful that he’d braved her closed door and come in. His strong, companionable presence had made her feel suddenly safe and she’d wanted to fall into his arms, to dry her tears on his shirtfront, to bury her face against his shoulder.
It would have been perfect. With Jack’s arms about her, she would have felt comforted, safe again, rescued from that awful feeling that she’d lost her bearings.
But Jack had kept his distance. He’d been friendly and kind and concerned—and distant—and shame on her for expecting anything else. This was what she’d demanded of him—to be a friend, not her lover. She knew she should be grateful. She was enormously grateful.
Now she stared hard at her reflection. Come on, Lizzie. Shoulders back. You’re strong, remember.
She still didn’t feel particularly strong as she went back to her room, where Jack very soon joined her with two mugs of tea.
‘You should make yourself comfy,’ he told her, in a kindly tone.
So she sat on Kate Burton’s comfortable bed, with the pillows plumped up, and her legs, in slim cream Capri pants, stretched out in front of her. Jack swung the chair out from her desk and sat there, on the far side of the room, with an ankle propped on a knee.
‘That chair looks too small for you, Jack.’
He sent a cursory glance to her bed, the only other place in the room, apart from the floor, where he could sit. ‘This chair’s fine, thanks.’
Lizzie dropped her gaze, and took a sip of her tea. It was very hot and strong and sweet, exactly what she needed.
‘You’re looking better,’ he said. ‘Not so pale.’
‘I’m feeling much better, thank you.’ She drank more tea, then smiled at him. ‘You’re a really nice man. You know that, don’t you?’
‘I hear it from the stockmen every day.’
They shared a grin and as they sat there, drinking tea in the quiet house, Lizzie found herself wanting to tell him about her family and why she’d been so upset.
‘Do you mind if I talk? Get it off my chest?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I suppose it’s a female thing—needing to offload emotional baggage.’
‘As long as you don’t think of me as a girlfriend.’
‘Fat chance.’
Settling against the pillows, she began to tell him about her family, about the two rivalling family restaurants, Rosa and Sorella, and the tensions that seemed to have existed for ever, and about her uncle Luca and the twins, and how Isabella had always worked so very hard.
‘But tonight, it got so much worse,’ she said. ‘There was an email from Isabella, telling me to ring my mother. So I did.’
Tears threatened, and Lizzie took a deep breath. ‘It seems Luca’s first wife, Cindy, went back to America, leaving him with their twins. He was struggling financially, so he asked my mother for help, for money.’
She closed her eyes, remembering the coldness in her mother’s voice as soon as Luca’s name was mentioned. All the usual warmth had vanished. It was like turning off a switch.
‘My mother refused to help him.’ Lizzie’s voice broke on a sob, and she reached for the tissues and blew her nose.
‘Maybe she had good reasons for refusing,’ Jack suggested gently.
Lizzie shook her head. ‘Luca’s her brother, Jack. What kind of sister would refuse to help her own brother? I know the two of them have always fought like cats and dogs, but this was inexcusable. She’s always had plenty of money, and Luca was struggling. How could she turn him away empty-handed? He had two little mouths to feed. But my mother, their aunt, wouldn’t help and—’
Tears chased each other down Lizzie’s cheeks. ‘He had to send Alessandro and Angelo away to America because he couldn’t afford to feed them.’ Her voice rose on a note of horror. ‘And it was my mother’s fault.’
She could still picture those bright, eager little boys with their shiny eyes and cheeky smiles. It would have broken Luca’s heart to give them up, to willingly separate himself from his sons. And now they’d been gone for so long.
Her mother’s lack of compassion shocked Lizzie to the core. She felt betrayed by the person she loved most.
Twice in her life she’d loved and admired someone so much that she’d allowed that person to shape her life. Those two people had been Mitch MacCallum and Lisa Firenzi.
First Mitch had let her down badly, and tonight Lizzie felt as if her mother had pulled her very foundations from beneath her feet.
Such a big part of her decision to have a sperm-donor pregnancy stemmed from her certainty that her mother would approve and applaud her. Now she wondered why Lisa’s opinion had seemed so damned important.
Nothing made sense any more.
Setting aside her mug, Lizzie sent Jack a shaky smile. She felt drained by her confession. ‘You probably think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill.’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘It’s never easy to accept flaws in someone you love.’
Jack understood. He really understood. She’d momentarily forgotten his problems with his father, but, of course, he probably understood a great deal. Knowing that, and sitting here with him now, in her bedroom, wrapped by the silent outback night, she felt astonishingly close to him.
They talked on, sharing stories about their childhood, about their parents, and the difficulties of accepting that idols too often had feet of clay. They even talked, eventually, about the possibility of forgiveness, and Lizzie found the idea extremely comforting.
She would have liked to go on talking for ages, but when she yawned Jack stood and collected their mugs.
‘Thanks so much for the tea and the talk,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound too disappointed.
He looked down at her, an ambiguous expression in his gorgeous green eyes. ‘You’d better get some sleep.’
He was leaving and she felt suddenly, desperately lonely. Truly lonely. It made no sense. To be alone was what she wanted—to be single and solitary and strong.
Like her mother.
Oh, help.
Jack’s voice whispered in her head. You only have to ask.
On impulse, she reached for his free hand. ‘Do you have to go?’
He went very still. ‘Are you asking me to stay?’
‘Yes, I think I am.’ She held her breath. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Jack had said that she only had to ask, but how could she be sure he really wanted her? He was so hunky and fit and ten years younger. She was pregnant.
Embarrassment flamed her cheeks as she remembered the recent changes in her body. She’d always been full-breasted, but now her breasts were bigger than ever, and heavy. Her baby bulge was becoming noticeable, too.
Silently, Jack set the mugs down on the small bedside table, then sat on the edge of her bed. Her he
art thudded as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. She caught the faint drift of soap on his skin, saw that his green eyes were clouded with a smoky mix of wariness and desire.
His throat rippled as he swallowed, and the air in the room seemed to tremble.
Nervous flutters danced in Lizzie’s stomach. After the way she’d turned Jack away in the past, she couldn’t really blame him if he got to his feet again and walked out the door.
‘If I stay, I’ll want to make love to you, Lizzie.’
Her throat was so full she couldn’t speak, could only nod.
The caution in his eyes gave way to his trademark sparkle. He hadn’t shaved and her fingertips touched the masculine roughness of his beard.
She smiled. ‘You’re so lovely and whiskery.’
His hand captured hers, and he kissed her fingers. ‘You’re so lovely and silky.’ Leaning in, he kissed her lips. ‘And you’re so soft.’ He kissed her again, gently at first, and then with open-mouthed thoroughness. ‘Lizzie… I love the way you taste.’
‘How do I taste?’
‘Like moonlight. Perfect.’
‘You taste of sunlight. Perfect too.’
He smiled. ‘Night and day.’
Their kiss deepened and he gathered her in to him, nipping, tasting, delving. Happiness flowed through her. For too long she’d lived in a vacuum of touch, but now Jack’s hands were making dreamy circles on her arms, on her back, over her throat, her shoulders, and his mouth was awakening a thousand forgotten pleasures.
When he began to undo the buttons on her blouse she was no longer nervous, but rosy and warm, edgy with excited anticipation.
Her blouse fell open, and the night air was cool on her skin, and she closed her eyes as he kissed a sweet line from her throat down her chest.
But when he removed her bra her eyes snapped open, and she felt compelled to explain. ‘My breasts have changed. Because of the baby. I hope you don’t mind.’
Gently, almost reverently, he tested their weight in his hands. ‘You’re beautiful, Lizzie. Amazing. More perfection.’ He lowered his head, bestowing the softest of kisses. ‘But I don’t want to hurt you.’
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