by Jane Linfoot
‘No, that’s a lot more than lust in Jackson’s face. I know caveman protector slash total devotion when I see it.’ Cressy flashed her a significant grin. ‘There’s no doubt about it, he’s in love.’
Bryony flinched. Putting Jackson and love in the same sentence was ridiculous. Everyone knew guys like Jackson didn’t do love. The bottom line was she couldn’t have chosen a worse guy to get her pregnant. And damn that he still made her heart contract every time she saw his picture.
‘I always wanted a family, whereas Jackson always wanted freedom.’ Not that Bryony ever envisaged getting pregnant via this route, but now it had happened and she’d worked out a way forward, she was not exactly happy, but she knew it was the way it had to be. ‘This way I’m saving him from what he doesn’t want, and isn’t cut out for. Jackson buckling down to fatherhood is a laughable thought.’ And she wasn’t putting either of them through that. Compulsion of this kind wasn’t on her agenda, especially for Jackson. The two of them complete with pushchair, struggling over rocks to the sea. Why the heck did that picture keep flashing through her brain? She gave a decisive nod to close the subject.
‘Do you have any idea how annoyingly overbearing you can be?’ Cressy had her terrier-with-a-bone look about her. ‘It’s not your place to decide what’s best for Jackson. He’s a big boy – you might have to let him decide for himself.’
‘And I might not.’ Bryony stuck her chin in the air. If she did the deciding she stayed in control. It had been really hard to come to this point, to give up all thought of being with the only guy she’d ever truly enjoyed being with. They’d had such a great times together, even if time had been short. But she’d come to this decision to protect both of them. And if she let Jackson into the mix again, who knew what might happen?
‘Jackson, what the hell are you doing here?’
Bryony’s heart leapfrogged into her throat as she opened the flat door and found Jackson, one shoulder propped casually on the door frame as he waited for a reply to his knock.
For one lovely moment his eyes rested on her face. Then they slid down to her stomach, and stayed there. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
It didn’t take a mind reader to know, despite the lack of bump as yet, he was honing in on the baby. She smoothed down her dress self-consciously. ‘Jackson…?’
‘Okay, right…’ Back in the room now. ‘I’m here for a delivery.’ He bobbed, picked up a large, flat parcel.
Relieved that his scrutiny had passed, she eyed the tall brown paper package suspiciously. ‘Why didn’t you ring?’
‘Would you have answered if I had?’
He was right about that. Of course she wouldn’t. ‘You’re lucky I’m even here, I’m usually out with the gang after work on a Friday.’
‘I thought I’d chance it.’ He spun her a nonchalant grin.
Somehow she doubted chance came into it, and she’d be having firm words with Cressy about that later. ‘So what’s this?’ She sent a silent prayer to the God of accidental pregnancies, pleading that it was nothing baby orientated.
‘Something to remind you what you’re missing.’ He marched past her into the flat, threw down his bag, put the parcel on the table, tore off the paper and held up a picture.
‘The photo of you from the gallery! Brilliant!’ Great on the one hand, but she gave a long inward groan for what it was. Jackson, larger than life had to be the last thing she needed when she was trying so hard to get him out of her system.
‘That’s the one.’ Pulling a hammer out of his messenger bag, he marched through to the bedroom, and by the time she arrived, he was already bashing a nail into her wall. ‘There you go, this is to help you get used to having me around – and to remind you that I always won because I was good at reading my opponents. I’ll put it here, opposite the bed, so you’ll see it when you wake up.’
So much for her perfect plaster. He flipped the picture into position, and stood back to see if it was straight. One glorious colour picture of Jackson, larger than life. As a tactic for making sure she didn’t forget him it was hardly subtle. Nor was it lost on her that with one bang of a nail, he’d managed to take up virtual residence in her bedroom. Trying not to dwell on the metaphorical significance, her stomach lurched again as he shot her a pointed smile.
‘You think I’m an opponent?’ She tried to ignore the way his heady scent was already permeating the room.
‘Right now we’re opposing each other when we really should be on the same side here, Cherry.’
‘Right.’ Except there was nothing right about this at all. Jackson at the end of a phone she could stall and control. Jackson the whirlwind in three dimensions, rampaging around her flat was an altogether different matter.
He looked at his watch. ‘There’s another delivery arriving any minute. I got you that vintage dentist’s chair you always wanted. Remember, you told me about it when you were staying at my place, we were supposed to be going to the retro shops look for in Manchester the afternoon Dan hijacked our plans. I got it to say sorry for that awful day at Brando’s, I hope that’s good?’
She reeled. Flowers would have been so much easier.
As for getting an eyeful of him, every time she woke up? Halfway through her despairing sigh about that one, the door buzzer went again.
‘Here we go! I’ll get it.’ Jackson brushed her arm as he sprang past her towards the door.
Damn to the way that smallest touch set her skin vibrating. And damn, that whatever she pretended, it felt so easy having him here, even if he was annoying the hell out of her. And crap to the way she kept thinking of him as the father of her baby. But the biggest damn of all was for the shivers of need, which were slithering all the way down past the pit of her stomach, and settling like an aching chasm between her legs. What the hell that was about, she had no idea. Right now she’d have given anything to have thrown up, to have had the excuse to dash, retching, into the bathroom. But for the first time in ages, her guts were stable, which was a lot more than she could say about her lurching heartbeat, or her soaring libido.
‘One dentist’s chair, in position, if you’re sure the bedroom’s where you want it, so are you going to give it a try?’ Jackson posted her a grin, and patted the leather seat.
Why the hell did he have to be so fanciable? Why the hell did he have to be so nice? Why the hell was he making her want to be with him so badly, when she’d already decided it was a completely bad idea? At least she could blame the mixed up feelings on her pregnancy hormones. She just hadn’t expected the ‘mixed up’ it talked about in the pregnancy book, to translate into anything so humongous and difficult in real life.
‘It’s meant for atmosphere, and as a clothes rest, it’s not for sitting on.’ She intended to resist, but given how patient Jackson had been, lugging it from place to place whilst she decided where it looked best, she found herself sliding on anyway, leaning back, rubbing her fingertips along the arm rests. ‘It’s great, just what I’d have chosen myself, thanks so much.’ How the heck had he got this so right?
‘And I’m so sorry for barging in on you that day at Brando’s…’
Only a month ago, but it seemed much longer. As he shifted, his thigh almost brushed her elbow and her eyes slithered across his artfully faded designer polo shirt, hungry for a glimpse of skin. Tanned torso? No luck. Her gaze snagged instead on his thumb, broad and rugged, hooked into the top pocket of his jeans. Swallowing hard, she slammed the brakes on her roving eyes before they got any further. Mouthwatering maybe, but Jackson’s zip was so out of bounds she shouldn’t be looking at it, let alone imagining sliding it down inch by teasing inch, so her finger could slip to find the firm heat of him. Yes, she could see that too. Holy crap, she was out of line here. Instead she skewed her gaze to latch onto a patch of pink cloud, scudding across the evening sky.
‘Brando’s helicopter – three outings in a weekend!’ She clutched for a thought that might head Jackson off. ‘I used to commandeer i
t all the time when I was younger.’
‘Didn’t he mind?’
Great, Jackson had bitten. You could always rely on a guy to grab anything aeronautical and run with it.
‘He was usually too busy to notice.’ She was comfortable enough to let out a rueful grin. ‘And I guess I grew out of it, I try my best not to steal it these days.’
‘I should have known you needed space…pregnancy is a huge thing to take on board.’
Damn. Back where he’d started. His was voice low, and he was scarily close to talking about the baby, but the sincerity she saw as his dark hazel irises locked onto hers, knocked the bottom out of her stomach and sent a fluttering right through her torso to bang on her throat. She wasn’t sure she could handle a contrite Jackson.
‘I’d rather not drag it up, it wasn’t the best day.’ She locked her gaze back onto the sky, hoping her flat reply would stall him. She couldn’t start the baby arguments again.
‘I was way out of line coming when you’d asked me not to, and you had every right to question that I’d stick around, but it was good. What you said about my inability to commit set me thinking.’
She gave up on the sunset, shifted her neck against the headrest, honed in on the tiny waves of hair on his temple. ‘Inability to commit’ was a great euphemism for someone who went out and singlehandedly tried to shag most of the women in the world, not that she was going to point that out. She fiddled with the ragged edge, where her plaster-cast sat on her knuckles, wished she wasn’t aching for him to snog her.
‘Itchy?’
Dammit. One gravelly word from him, and shudders were bumping down her spine.
‘Itchy as hell, but it’s easier without the sling. Hair tongs are a bit difficult, but it turns out I can work the festival look when I’m forced to.’ She ruffled her annoyingly messed-up hair.
‘It suits you.’ He swallowed hard.
‘Not really, but thanks anyway.’ She let out a sigh. A sigh for how goddam beautiful that mouth of his was, a sigh for how easy it was to talk to him, and yet another for how much she’d missed him – more than she’d even thought, now he was here. His voice, his broad shoulders, the contours of his face, his smell, already making her head giddy.
‘You see I never thought about what I did with my dating, or why, before.’ He raised an eyebrow. Obviously picking up the unreliable theme again here. ‘But a child on the way changes everything, and what you said pulled me up short, so I’ve been working on it. It’s taken me a while but I hope that’s given you time too.’
She reeled momentarily at the way he slid the ‘child’ in there, then just carried on. And ‘child’ sounded so much more than just ‘baby.’
Stretching out his hand, he wound one errant lock of her hair around his finger and gave it a gentle tug that sent rainbow tingles rippling through her scalp. She parted her lips as his face moved towards hers, pulled in a ragged breath of anticipation, half-closed her eyes, making the world blur.
‘I missed you, Cherry.’
One husky whisper, hot against her cheek, that set her heart galloping. She raised her hand towards his chin, aching for the scratch of stubble on her palm, ran her tongue over her lips, waiting impatiently for the pressure of his mouth over hers. Desperately even…
He cleared his throat, and she sprung her eyes open in time to see him veering away from her, jack-knifing across the room.
What the heck? She shook her head to clear the chasm of disappointment, rubbed her knuckles over her bottom lip, to fill the gaping space.
Almost out of the door, and he came to a sudden halt, wedged his shoulder against the frame. ‘Coming for a walk?’
‘Sorry?’
What did walking have to do with anything? Was her head playing tricks with her? She was so sure he was about to kiss her back there, and it just melted into nothing. Was it just a figment of her hormone driven imagination? Given the way her morning sickness had morphed into this out of control, knicker-pumping lust, while she was looking the other way, she probably had imagined it. Oh, crap. She needed to find her sensible head, and fast. Because if a kiss was a bad idea, anything more would be a total disaster – and disaster areas were what she was studiously avoiding. She was pregnant. She was going to be a mum. She should be behaving responsibly here.
‘There’s stuff I need to tell you – it’s still warm, we can go by the river.’ Despite the laid back words, his face was grave, and his eyes were anxious. ‘It’ll be easier to explain when we’re out.’
Hard to resist a look that worried, that imploring. Impossible, when he came back towards her, grasped her good hand and tugged her fingers. Pulling her, yet somehow keeping her at arm’s length? Nice move. And she should be grateful for it, given that snogging him was the last thing she should do. Anything physical could only complicate an already out of hand situation.
‘Fine, I don’t need to change.’ Somehow taking any of her clothes off with him in the same flat seemed like a very dangerous idea even if he was in another room. The way her lust-fairies were working, undressing when he was in the same city would seem like folly.
‘I’ll just grab the hammer before I forget. I borrowed a baby one to bring, in case you didn’t have one.’ He scooped it up off the bedroom console as he passed. ‘Sorry, bad choice of word, jumping in with my size elevens again.’
Damn, she’d hoped he hadn’t noticed her reaction. ‘What are you talking about, Jackson?’
‘I felt you flinch when I said the word baby.’
Nothing so small – she’d practically jolted his arm off. She needed to explain, and fast. ‘Even though I’m happy, I still get a bit of a shock every time I’m reminded. I’m trying to think of it wherever I can though, trying to live up to my new responsibilities.’ Saying it out loud might make her act them out more, and think about jumping him less. ‘No worries, so long as you aren’t about to whip out a Babygro, I’ll be fine.’
She watched his eyebrows descend as his eyes flickered in a guilty arc towards his messenger bag.
Holy crap. He had come with a Babygro. She’d stake her life on it. And not only a Babygro, but enough pheromones to drive her libido round the bend. He was the human equivalent of dynamite, fully charged, poised to blow her carefully crafted solo existence into orbit.
‘Ready to go, Cherry?’
Tilting his dark head against the wall as he waited by the door, one raised eyebrow, and a whole armoury of slow blinks, turning her entire day upside down and shaking it. Hard.
‘Whenever you are.’ She grabbed a jacket, kicked into a pair of open boots, with heels stable enough for a night-time of pavement tramping.
The sooner she got Jackson out of her danger zone the better.
Chapter 50
‘I love the city at dusk. It’s magical when the lights come on even though the sky’s still blue.’
Jackson stared across the Thames to the twinkling outline of the Millennium Wheel as they sauntered and let Cherry’s running commentary flow over him. Ridiculous, but somehow he’d expected her to be looking more pregnant, acting more pregnant, acknowledging it more. She didn’t even have a hint of a bump yet, from what he could see, and yes, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep his eyes away from her stomach. No, definitely no bump, even from this angle.
Her chatter was incessant, yet soothing as he let it wash over him.
‘There’s a whole city around, but somehow this stretch of pavement alongside the river is really quiet.’
She was keeping an acre of pavement between them, which maybe was no bad thing, given he was finding it impossible to keep his hands off her. Crowding her was the last thing she needed, he had to give her space, and back there he’d almost blown it by diving in and snogging her face off. Hardly his fault, when she did look practically edible, especially with her rumpled hair giving her that extra sexy come-to-bed look. But if he was here for the long game, he had to play it cooler than that. He definitely needed to stick his fist in his mouth
every time the word child was about to come out. There was too much at stake to rush this. He was thanking his lucky stars he’d managed to coax her this far without getting kicked into touch.
‘The river is brilliant in the evening; I love the way the lights are reflected in the water. I often come down here when I want to have a quiet think.’
Nothing quiet about her fast forward chatter tonight.
‘Walking’s good for talking if the last ten minutes are anything to go by, not that I’ve managed to get a word in edgeways.’ He bowled that across the wide stone pavement towards her, further away than ever now and wondered if she was even close enough to hear.
‘Sorry, I’m just a bit…’ She swallowed her words, shuffled her shoulders, and shot him a sideways glance. Nervous, edgy, ill at ease? Whatever it was, she wasn’t about to admit it. ‘Here I am rattling on, and you’re the one we’re supposed to be listening to. So, how was Spain?’
If that was a diversionary tactic, it wasn’t going to work.
‘Spain was great, thanks. Dan was right, it was good to go and it brought a lot of issues into focus. I went, knowing I was giving up, and this time I was like an outsider, looking in on the whole cycling world. That was really useful. It made me aware of a lot of things I hadn’t even noticed before.’ He screwed himself up for what was to come, and took a deep breath. Speeches about himself were the last thing he was comfortable with but there were times when you had to step out of your comfort zone. ‘When you’re eighteen, and winning cycling races, there’s no shortage of girls taking an interest in you. Winners are sexy, they’re attractive, they’re alpha-males, there to be picked off and the more successful you get, the more women throw themselves at you. It’s like you become a trophy lay. The guys who have relationships find this whole scene puts a lot of pressure on them, because however hard you try to avoid them, there’s always some hot babe draping herself over you, and more often than not, it’s a lot more than one. There’s a whole heap of temptation, and a whole lot of reasons for jealousy, especially for partners who often aren’t there. If you stay a free agent, at least you sidestep the difficulties.’