by Nicola Marsh
‘Bene!’
Straightening his shoulders, he beamed at her, his proud smile suggesting he’d find a well and dredge up the bucket himself. ‘Another cappuccino to go with it?’
‘No, thanks.’
As another wave of nausea hit, she slid the cup across the table towards him. ‘I’ve had enough, thanks.’
As he bustled away, she rubbed her tummy, hoping she hadn’t picked up a bug. For a girl who lived and breathed coffee, the smell of it had never made her feel like this before.
Suddenly, she sat bolt upright, clutching at the table to steady herself as a faint buzzing filled her head, making her feel faint. Something her mum had once said…about not being able to work in Ma and Pa’s when she’d been pregnant because of the smell of coffee…
She shook her head, dismissing the ludicrous thought in an instant. There was no way she could be pregnant. Well, okay, considering what she and Blane had got up to a few months ago there was the remotest chance. Her periods had been extremely light, but she’d put that down to all the air travel she’d been doing. Was it a possibility? After all, the doctors had said it would be difficult to conceive naturally, not impossible…
Nah…it couldn’t be. But what if it was? A pure, indescribable joy rushed through her, making her want to leap from the table and run through the piazza with her arms outstretched and twirling like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music.
She had to find a chemist and hope her meagre Italian extended to requesting a pregnancy test.
If it was true…if the unbelievable had happened, the reunion she had planned for her husband would take on a whole new dimension.
She could hardly wait.
Blane tipped out of the hammock, stretched and glared at the laptop that had disturbed his peace. Not that it was the computer’s fault. He’d been the lazy one, too damned tired to switch it off after surfing the Net for a patio set, the call of his brand-spanking-new hammock too strong to ignore.
He’d always wanted one, the type of wide, comfy sling he could lie back in and sway, obliterating the day-to-day grind.
Until now, he’d never had the opportunity to just ‘do nothing’, nor the space. His penthouse in Melbourne wasn’t exactly a hammock kind of place.
Frowning, he glanced at the computer screen. He’d taken care of a few residual business emails earlier and had no idea who [email protected] was, the sender of the email dropping into his inbox the offender who had disturbed his peace.
‘Caffeine chick?’
As he slid his index finger over the glossy flat mouse pad, he froze. No, it couldn’t be. Why would Cam be contacting him after all this time? From an email address he didn’t recognise?
He scanned the unopened message for clues, but there were none. The subject line was blank, and all he had to go on was the name of the sender.
The pointer hovered over the email, curiosity urging him to open it, common sense telling him to delete it unopened.
If it was from her, he didn’t want to read it, had no intention of reneging on the decision he’d made. It had taken him this long to get past the insane expectation: every time the phone had rung, he’d hoped it was her, every time the doorbell had rung, he’d willed it to be her. Crazy, seeing as she was on her overseas jaunt and had made it more than clear they were finished by ignoring every one of his attempts at contact.
She’d almost killed him that last time at Rainbow Creek, telling him she loved him but had to let him go anyway. That wasn’t love, it was madness, and he’d tried everything to convince her otherwise. But she’d still left, had effectively wiped him from her life, and it still hurt. A whole damn lot.
The loud squawk of a hungry seagull swooping nearby broke into his thoughts, and he clocked to open the email in a reflex gesture, sending the gull an angry glare a moment before realising how stupid he was being. With a sardonic chuckle, he returned his attention to the screen and focused on the brief email, his gaze instantly jumping to the name on the bottom.
Cam X.
Not Camryn. Cam. The informal name she didn’t let anyone use but him, most often in the throes of passion when he’d whispered her name. Cam. With a kiss.
Frowning, he tore his gaze away from that one, small, significant X and started at the beginning.
Hi, Blane,
Hope you’re well. Will be home in a week. Must see you when I return. It’s important. Sorry for everything. Will explain all when I get home. Keep dreaming.
Cam X
‘Keep dreaming’… That was all he’d been doing for the last six years: dreaming of making something of himself for her, dreaming of offering her the world on a silver platter when they reunited, dreaming of a happy marriage with the woman he’d loved since he’d first laid eyes on her.
But she hadn’t wanted a bar of his dreams. She’d left and ignored him since to prove it. So what did she mean by ‘keep dreaming’? Was she over her funk and ready to believe in them, this time for keeps?
Sinking onto the canvas chair in front of the fold-out table where his laptop perched, he rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. The urge to respond to her email was powerful. His fingers burned with it.
But he’d made a decision after that first fortnight when she’d ignored his messages. He’d give her time and space. He wouldn’t do any more chasing; he’d sit back and keep the faith, knowing that the true test of their relationship to see if she loved him enough to come back was to set her free.
He couldn’t waver now, no matter how much he wanted to respond.
There was too much at stake: their entire future.
Straightening, he stabbed at the delete key, obliterating the temptation to have a moment of weakness with one easy click.
He’d waited this long for her.
What was another week?
Camryn scanned her emails on a daily basis, hand trembling as she manoeuvred some dodgy mouse in the equally dodgy hotels she stayed in for the next seven days before returning home, heart racing, the weight of expectation making breathing difficult, the subsequent let-down almost devastating.
Blane didn’t respond. Not even a brief one-liner, not a word to hang a scrap of hope on, nothing.
Initially she’d reasoned he didn’t have to respond; she hadn’t asked him to. However, as the days dwindled along with her hopes, no amount of positive self-talk in the world could erase the gut-wrenching truth: she’d achieved her objective. He’d moved on with his life.
Dubai, Hong Kong, Singapore flashed by in a kaleidoscope of bright lights, monstrous malls and skyscrapers, but nothing, not even a dazzling display of fabulous shoes in the biggest shoe shop in the world, could lighten her heart.
She trudged through the final leg of her trip, her spirits limping into Tullamarine airport on a foggy Melbourne morning, the familiar city skyline doing little to ease the permanent ache deep in her soul. Heading to the Niche would have been her first instinct, but she couldn’t face it, not today.
Valentine’s Day.
The worst day of the year had rolled around again, and, while Blane hadn’t responded, she couldn’t help but wish he’d remember today and what it entailed. The anniversary of their first meeting. The anniversary of the night he’d walked back into her life and changed it for the better.
Sighing, she hefted her suitcase off the carousel, popped up the handle and pulled it behind her, heading for the taxi rank. No, she couldn’t face the Niche today. Time enough to face the future…tomorrow.
Blane hadn’t been back to the Docklands for over four months. He’d avoided the place, missing Cam too much, preferring to conduct the few meetings with the builders at the house or at his apartment.
However, Dirk had insisted he needed a caffeine fix at his favourite café, and he’d caved, knowing it wouldn’t be long until Cam returned and he’d have his answers then. It would be a quick meeting, their last, as the house had finally reached lock-up stage.
Reaching the caf
é, he stopped dead, his gaze riveted to the banner bearing corny cherubs strung across the front windows.
Valentine’s Day.
Hell, he’d forgotten. In the blink of an eye he was transported back to a year ago when he’d strolled into this place and taken a chance on love again. Now, if only his wayward wife could take a chance on him…
Slamming his hand against the enormous glass door, he pushed it open and headed for the furthest table away from the cooing couples. Dirk hadn’t arrived yet, leaving him with too much time on his hands—too much time to look around, too much time to remember…
‘Hey, Blane. Long time no see. Though it’s pretty obvious why you haven’t been in, what with the boss lady traipsing around the world and all. What’ll it be?’
Glancing up, he smiled at Anna, momentarily blinded by her garish, orange, pink and purple kaftan.
‘And if you say a pair of sunglasses, I’ll spit in your coffee.’
He winced. ‘Sorry. Am I that easy to read?’
Anna propped her ample hip against a nearby stool and sighed. ‘No. I’ve had that same look from everyone in this place today. No one appreciates a good fashion statement these days.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
He knew jack about fashion. Apart from the fact he loved Cam’s usual café outfit of tight jeans, knee-high black boots and clingy bright pink top. She made a statement all right, and, despite his vow to play things cool, he couldn’t help but look around in the vain hope she’d come strutting in here with her funky plait over one shoulder and that sassy gleam in her eyes.
‘You miss her, don’t you?’
Understatement of the year, he thought as he sat back and ran a hand over the back of his neck.
‘It’s been too long.’
‘She’s crazy about you, you know. Never seen her so happy.’
Jerking her thumb towards the banner, she said, ‘Maybe this fat guy with the bow and arrow has more talent than I give him credit for.’
Had he made Cam happy? Truly happy? The type of happiness she’d do anything to preserve and nurture and build upon?
‘She came home this morning but won’t make it in here today.’ Anna paused, tapping her gnawed pencil against the pad in her other hand. ‘Not unless she has good reason to, and maybe I’m looking at him.’
‘She’s home?’
His nonchalant act flew out the window at the news he’d been waiting for, and it took all his willpower to sit there and act casually rather than race up to her apartment.
‘I’ll bring you an espresso, and you can think about it. But I gotta warn you, the chubby cherub’s in a romantic kind of mood today, and Valentine’s Day guarantees happy endings for everyone. No use fighting it.’
A happy ending for him and Cam? He wished. Then again, since when had he relied on wishes? He made things happen. He went out there, grabbed what he wanted, thrived on a challenge. He’d done it his whole life, first in the construction world, now with resurrecting his marriage.
So what was stopping him from making things happen with Cam? He’d stepped back, just as she’d asked, but what if playing it cool had been the wrong tactic?
What if he should have pursued her to the ends of the earth to prove how much he loved her?
He found his gaze drawn to the banner again, where Cupid seemed to be smiling down on him with an arrow aimed in his direction.
‘Go ahead, shoot,’ he muttered, glancing at the happy couples around him, drawn by the intimate smiles, the touches, the murmured sweet nothings, wanting what they had so badly.
He sat bolt upright, stunned by the simplicity of it all. He had a plan. A good one. And just like the blueprints for his house, he had to start at the ground level and build upwards, putting each step in place before he could achieve the best result.
‘Here you go.’
Anna placed a steaming espresso in front of him, a pierced eyebrow raised. ‘Well? Are you going to make Cam’s day or not?’
‘Actually, I’ve been thinking about that…’
Crooking his finger, he waited till Anna leaned forward before divulging some of his plan and the part she had to play in it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CAMRYN had just stepped out of the shower and towel-dried her hair when her mobile rang.
Staring at the display screen, her heart sank. It was the café, which had closed an hour ago, meaning the alarm—linked to her phone—was playing up again. Anna had mentioned it had been a problem while she was away.
Great. Looked like her plan to head on over to Blane’s straight after her jetlag-induced all-day nap and pick-me-up shower had hit a snag.
She loved the Niche, adored every chic inch, from the silk bolster cushions to the exposed beams and everything in between, but it was times like this where being her own boss wasn’t the be-all and end-all she’d once thought.
Dragging on her favourite purple yoga pants and matching striped hoodie, she slipped her feet into fuchsia flip-flops, grabbed her keys and headed to the café.
The buzz of Melbourne at night hit her as she stepped out of her apartment building and crossed the road to the café, and a thrill of pleasure shot through her.
This was why she’d moved here in the first place: the neon-lit restaurants, the bars packed to capacity with revellers spilling out onto the sidewalk, the glittering cityscape backdrop reflecting off the water.
Oh, yeah, Melbourne was where it was at…but was it where she was at these days? That all depended on one very sexy husband…
Shaking her head, she unlocked the rear door and slipped into the café, waiting for the beep of the alarm and, predictably, greeted by silence.
‘Useless piece of…’
She froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end as she saw a silhouette rise from one of the sofas in the lounge area and turn towards her.
Adrenalin shot through her as she cast a desperate glance at the set of cake knives several metres away. Several long metres away, and as the shadow moved towards her, she stood paralysed, belatedly remembering the spate of robberies eleven months ago when she’d moved in with Blane, her heart in her mouth and her pulse hammering at a frightening pace, until she recognised who the intruder was. Sagging with relief against the bar, she took great gulps of air to fill her constricted lungs.
‘What are you doing here? You scared me half to death!’
Blane smiled, and her lungs didn’t let up. If anything, they seized more.
‘Sorry. I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Well, you certainly did that.’
His smile faded, and she realised how aggressive she sounded, softening her voice as she stepped out from behind the bar towards him. ‘Actually, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re here.’
‘Are you?’
He scanned her face, searching for answers she had every intention of giving him.
‘When you didn’t answer my email, I thought you might’ve m-moved on.’
She couldn’t even say the words, let alone think them.
‘I was giving you the space you needed.’
‘Oh. So now—’
‘That was then. This is now.’
Reaching out, he drew her to him gently, as if expecting a rebuff, when all she wanted to do was fling herself into his arms and hope he’d never let go.
‘I have so much to say to you,’ she murmured, her heart thumping at the hope in his eyes, forcing her to look away, only to focus on his lips instead.
‘There’s plenty of time to get to all that.’
Anticipation buzzed through her veins as the lips she found infinitely fascinating drifted towards her, promising the future she hoped they’d have once he heard her out.
However, talk was the furthest thing from her mind as his lips brushed hers, once, twice, before crushing hers in a passionate, mind-blowing kiss, effectively obliterating everything but this moment, this man.
Pyrotechnics exploded in her head as he deepe
ned the kiss, rockets and sparklers and pinwheels of sensation ricocheting through her, his tongue teasing hers, his hands everywhere, exploring, touching, caressing, driving, wild need pounding through her till she could barely stand. She clung to him, in desperate need of an anchor in a world turned topsy-turvy when she least expected it.
She’d dreamed of him, of this kind of kiss, all through Europe, had harboured a secret yearning that her trip would miraculously change things for them, and she’d come back ready to take a chance on for ever. Well, it looked like she’d got both her wishes, though right now the kiss was taking over everything.
But it couldn’t. She had too much to say to him.
On a soft sigh, she broke the kiss, burying her face in the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply, his subtle cedar scent filling her, soothing her weary soul.
‘So, I guess we should get around to having that chat,’ he said, smoothing her hair in a rhythmic, lulling motion that had her snuggling into him further. ‘Hey! You cut your hair.’
He pulled back, running his fingers through her chopped, layered locks, a bemused expression on his face.
‘Took you long enough to notice.’
Her mock frown didn’t last as he rubbed several strands between his fingertips, the sexy glint in his eyes telling her he approved of her new look.
‘It looks great.’ He captured her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones, his tender expression conveying more than words ever could. ‘You look great.’
She could say the same about him, but she’d never been one for understatement. He looked sensational, from the top of his wind-ruffled brown hair to the soles of his well-worn sneakers. After spending months in Paris, Rome, Milan and Venice, she’d seen lots of hot guys in designer duds, but not one of those well-dressed, smooth European men could hold a candle to the guy who made denim and a cotton T-shirt look like haute couture.
Capturing his hands, she tugged them down, his touch creating havoc when she needed her wits about her.