She stilled beside him and he closed his eyes.
Way to go, Bianco. Why not write some bad poetry and carve her name in a tree while you’re at it?
He waited for her to say something, but after a short, tense pause she turned on the engine.
They were both silent for a few minutes. Then she cleared her throat.
“Sorry for keeping you so long from the market. I hope your dad won’t be too upset.”
“He’ll be fine,” he said.
So this was how they were going to handle his inadvertent declaration—ignore it and hope it went away.
A pity he couldn’t do the same thing with his feelings for her.
Loving Lucy Basso and not being able to have her was turning out to be the toughest thing he’d ever done.
CHAPTER NINE
THE DAY OF the Web site launch party, Lucy dropped her silver earrings into her makeup bag and zipped it shut. She threw the whole thing into her overnight bag, then checked to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. Her dress was on its hanger, suspended from the top of the bedroom door. She had her shoes and makeup and jewelry and perfume. Dom already had all the brochures and other materials at his place.
She was ready to go.
Lucy hung her dress carefully in the van before tossing her bag onto the passenger seat. It was three hours before their guests were due to arrive, but she’d insisted on helping Dom set up. In return, he’d insisted that she shower and dress at his place rather than return home. At the time, it had made sense. Now, it made her nervous. Somehow, the thought of getting naked in Dom’s house, even when he was in a far distant room, made her feel distinctly…edgy.
It had been almost two weeks since Dom had told her he loved her. Two weeks of neither of them mentioning it or referring to it in any way. Her fault—she was the one who’d sat in stunned silence when he’d spoken the words. She was the one who had started the car and changed the subject instead of addressing what he’d said.
She’d gone over and over the moment a hundred times, justifying her response to herself, trying to convince herself that what he’d said had been a generic, sweeping kind of statement and not about her, about them.
But she knew it was. Deep in her heart, she’d known for a long time that the way he looked at her, the way he behaved around her was not just about lust or desire. She understood him so much better now, after all the time they’d spent in the van together, after all the working dinners and spirited discussions.
He was loyal to a fault. He was honest, committed. He cared about everything he did. And he was kind—he’d proved that to her time and time again with his generous, selfless actions.
He was also incredibly sexy and clever and witty.
And he loved her.
The knowledge had been working on her like water on rock. Every time she looked at him she thought about what he’d said.
We don’t choose the ones we love.
She pushed the memory away as she parked her van in front of his house. She had no idea what to do with it, so she avoided it, the way she’d avoided responding to him at the time.
“Hey. Let me grab that for you,” Dom said when he answered the door. He took her dress and bag from her.
“The caterers will be here soon. I’ve left the flowers for you. I’m still trying to get the patio heaters working.”
She followed him up the hallway but stopped awkwardly when he turned through a doorway into a bedroom. One glance was enough to let her know it was his—his suit and shirt were on the bed and his aftershave tinged the air. Briefly she took in the neutral decor, the wooden bed with a mocha linen quilt and the pile of books on his bedside table before she looked away.
He hung her dress on the hook behind the door and left her overnight bag beside the bed.
“There are fresh towels in the bathroom,” he said, indicating the door to what was obviously an ensuite.
“Great. Thanks,” she said. Her palms were sweating and she wiped them down the sides of her leggings.
She would never have said yes to this if she’d known it would feel so…intimate.
She was relieved to see the armful of cut flowers waiting on the kitchen counter. Work—that was what she needed right now. Lots of work to keep her mind from going places it shouldn’t.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said.
He picked up a remote control and clicked a CD into play as he exited the house to the covered deck out the back. The smooth tones of Duffy filled the room in his wake. She watched for a minute as he bent to examine the gas bottle on one of the three large outdoor heaters they’d rented to warm the patio. He was wearing a pair of old cargo shorts and a faded T-shirt, and he frowned with concentration as he adjusted something. She was so used to that look now, his I’m-trying-to-work-this-out expression. It made her want to laugh and smooth away the lines at the same time.
She forced herself to look away and concentrate on her own tasks. Within minutes she was immersed in trimming and arranging great bunches of Oriental lilies, saw grass and birds of paradise into what she hoped would pass as professional displays. Duffy’s voice rose and fell around her and she hummed along. She placed the first vase just inside the front door on the hall table Dom kept there. The second she placed on the front corner of the kitchen counter. The third went into the center of the dining table. She kicked her shoes off as she surveyed the living area, looking for a home for the last vase.
She saw that Dom already had his laptop linked to his flatscreen TV. They planned to use it as a giant monitor throughout the evening, with their Web site demonstration repeating over and over, showcasing their new services to their customers.
She decided the living space had more than enough color, so she headed outside. She smiled as she caught Dom singing to himself as he manhandled the last heater into position. He flashed her a grin, sheepish at being busted. She placed the vase in the middle of his outdoor table and stepped back to assess the affect.
“Perfect,” she said.
“Even if you do say so yourself.”
They smiled at each other again and she found herself thinking how natural this felt—being with Dom in his house, sharing with him.
She clamped down on the thought. It had no place in the reality of her life, like a lot of other thoughts she’d had lately.
The caterers arrived on time, and she spent another hour checking over their marketing materials and their Web site display.
She looked up when Dom’s bare feet appeared in front of where she sat on the sofa, hunched over the laptop.
“You want first shower?” he asked.
She stared at his feet, not surprised that even they were attractive—brown and strong-looking, his toes even and regular.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked stupidly.
He glanced down at his feet. “Nope. First or second shower?”
“Um, second,” she said.
“Okay. I’ll yell out when I’m finished.”
He left. She finished with the laptop and put it out of the way. Then she fidgeted, waiting to hear his voice calling her to the shower, trying not to think about him standing under a stream of water, big and naked and wet. It seemed like a long time before she heard a door open.
“All yours,” he called.
“Thanks.”
She entered the bathroom from the hall, noting with relief that he’d closed the door to his bedroom. Fluffy towels were piled on the shelf at the end of the bath and he’d left her overnight bag beside the vanity. She closed the hall door and started to pull her top over her head. She froze as she heard movement in his bedroom, then rolled her eyes at herself. Of course he was in there—he was getting dressed.
A wave of totally inappropriate heat swept over her as she imagined him getting dressed. Pulling boxers over his strong thighs. Buttoning his shirt over his broad chest. The image was so clear in her mind’s eye she had to blink to dislodge it.
She growled at herself and whippe
d her top over her head. Within seconds she was beneath the shower, washing herself with soap that smelled like Dom. She tried to get a grip by staring hard at her belly, but all she could focus on was what he would think of her pregnant body. Her belly was taut and smooth, but it was undeniably a belly. Her breasts were full, bigger than they’d ever been, and her nipples were darker and very sensitive to the touch. Her legs were still long and slim, her best feature. And she’d only widened marginally in the hips….
Lucy flicked the water off briskly. It didn’t matter what Dom might think of her pregnant body. He was never going to see it.
She pulled on her underwear and did her makeup and hair, taking more care than usual. She’d chosen a sleek, modern maternity dress, but she needed the confidence of knowing her hair and face were at their best. She swept her hair up and left several strands down to tickle her neck. She colored her lips with a deep plum lipstick, then made her eyes smoky with kohl. Lastly she slipped her earrings into place, smiling as they brushed her neck as she tilted her head.
Then, her towel wrapped tightly around her, she tapped lightly on the door through to the bedroom. There was no answer and she opened it carefully. The room was empty, but Dom’s aftershave hung heavily in the air. The quilt cover was wrinkled from where he’d sat to put on his shoes. His watch lay curled on the tallboy, the leather band curved to the shape of his wrist.
She stood for a moment, looking around. This was where he slept. His clothes were behind those sliding doors. She was in his most private space.
She was doing it again: fixating on a man she couldn’t have. Frustrated with herself, she let the towel drop as she reached for her dress. The dark blue fabric slipped down her body and she smoothed her hands over the fine black beading on the bodice and skirt. It was only when she tried to zip the dress that she remembered Rosie had helped her try it on in the store. She bit her lip. Dom would have to zip her up.
Her heels clicked quietly on the floorboards as she walked to the living room. Dom was talking to one of the caterers but he looked up when she entered. It was wrong to feel a rush of pleasure at the way his eyes darkened. Wrong, but impossible to deny. As it was impossible to deny the slow burn in the pit of her stomach as she looked at him, tall and gorgeous in his charcoal suit.
“Can you zip me?” she asked.
He stepped forward. She turned her back, and she felt the slow tug as her zipper closed. When he reached the top, he lingered for a moment, his hand heavy on her back.
“You look very nice,” he said. She almost laughed at how much meaning four little words could hold. Except the way she was feeling—at war with herself—wasn’t very funny.
“Excuse me, but did you want to start with just the champagne or offer all the wines when people first arrive?” the caterer asked.
Dom turned to answer and she tried to catch her breath.
Don’t, she told herself. Don’t forget what’s at stake.
But for the first time it hit her that maybe she had more to lose than she had to gain by keeping her distance from Dom.
It was a revolutionary thought. And a very disturbing one.
* * *
“HURRY UP! We’re going to be late,” Rosie called as she took one last swipe at her eyelashes with her mascara wand.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been ready for half an hour,” Andrew said dryly.
She turned from the mirror and saw that he was, indeed, fully dressed and reclining on the bed, arms behind his head as he waited patiently.
“Right. Sorry. Won’t be long.”
“No rush. I like watching you turn yourself into a man-trap.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
She smiled to cover the wave of guilt that swept through her. He was the perfect husband. Her soul mate. Her better half.
She didn’t deserve him. Not by a long shot.
Her hand was shaking when she slid the wand back into the tube.
That’s what you get for being a liar, she told herself.
Lucy’s advice sounded inside her head for the fiftieth time since their heart to heart: talk to him.
Simple words but they opened the door to a whole world of doubt and fear.
Rosie and Andrew handled on average sixty divorces a year. She’d sat opposite puffy-eyed men and women more times than she could count, listening to tales of woe and acrimony and disillusionment. She knew better than anyone the kinds of issues that killed marriages. Whether to have children or not was right at the top of the list, rubbing shoulders with money problems and old-fashioned infidelity.
You can’t go on like this, a little voice whispered in her ear as she smoothed on lipstick.
She knew it was true, but the alternatives terrified her.
“Want me to call the cab yet?” Andrew asked. They’d decided to catch a taxi to and from Dom’s place so they could both drink without worrying about driving.
“Um, sure. I only need another few minutes,” she said.
She could hear him confirming their address for the automated taxi service as she checked her hair and slid her earrings into her ears. The pearls Andrew had bought her for their eighth anniversary were cool against her skin as she fixed the clasp around her neck.
“Five minutes,” he said as he ended the call. “Just long enough for me to ruin your lipstick.”
He crowded into the bathroom behind her, his arms sliding around her waist. He angled his head into her neck and pressed a kiss against her nape.
“You smell so good.”
She watched him in the mirror, her love for him so strong inside her it brought tears to her eyes.
I don’t want to lose you, I love you so much, she told him in her head.
“Hey, I just remembered. Do you have cash for the cab? I meant to go to the bank earlier but I forgot,” he said.
“I’m tapped out, too. We’ll have to stop at an ATM on the way to the party,” she said.
He grunted his agreement and pressed his face into her neck again.
“Oh, wait. There’s a fifty in the zip pocket in my work bag. Lucy’s share of the water bill,” she said.
“I’ll grab it. Your bag in the study?”
“Yep.”
He left the room, and she hit her pulse points with one last spray of perfume before moving into the bedroom to collect her coat and evening bag. She wondered how Lucy was doing, aware that a lot was riding on the success of tonight’s party. Dom and Lucy had set themselves the target of signing up a quarter of their existing customers to their new Web-based order system by the night’s end. Rosie had confidence in their combined skills, but she wished that every hurdle wasn’t quite so high and quite so urgent for her sister. Lucy deserved to catch a break.
Then she thought of Dom and corrected herself. Her sister had already scored the biggest break of them all—she just hadn’t recognized it yet.
She heard the sound of a car engine out the front and tweaked the curtain aside to check out the window.
“Taxi’s here,” she called.
There was no response from the study. Which was when she registered how long it had taken Andrew to collect the money.
She’d completely forgotten—
It hadn’t occurred to her—
She strode through the house on legs that felt like lead.
His head came up as she stopped in the doorway. She didn’t need to see the shiny foil strip in his hand to understand that he knew. It was in his face, in the hurt, shocked disbelief in his eyes.
She felt dizzy. As though she needed to sit down and throw up and scream all at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Andrew fingered the packet of contraceptive pills, his thumb pressing into the little indent where today’s pill used to live.
“Did you stop at all? Was there ever a chance?” he asked.
She swallowed, the sound very noisy in the too quiet room.
“The first month. But then I…I filled the rest of my prescription.”
>
A car horn sounded from outside the house.
“That’s the taxi,” she said lamely.
Andrew stared at her for a long moment, then he stood and walked past her, angling his body very carefully so that they didn’t brush against each other in the doorway. As though he couldn’t stand touching her.
And why not? She’d betrayed him, made a fool of him. Lied to him every day. Had sex with him and let him hope each time that they were making a child when in fact she’d made very sure they weren’t. Commiserated with him when her period came. Talked about what it would be like when it didn’t come, the plans they’d make.
She heard the front door click shut and Andrew’s footsteps in the hall. She gathered herself and went to join him.
“I’m ready now,” she said.
He gave her a disbelieving look.
“I sent the cab away.”
Of course he had. They weren’t going to Lucy’s party, not after what had just happened. Crazy to even think it, but she couldn’t seem to think at all right now.
“I can explain,” she said.
“Can you?”
She didn’t like the way he looked at her, couldn’t stand the unfamiliar, angry hardness in his eyes.
“I should have said something earlier.”
His eyebrows rose. “Earlier? The only reason we’re having this conversation at all is because I found the pills in your bag.”
She pressed her hand to her throat.
“Just tell me one thing. How far were you willing to go?” he asked.
“Sorry?” Why couldn’t she think? All she could see was the anger in his eyes, and all she could hear was the thump of her panicked heart.
“Weeks, months? How long did you figure it would take for me to lose heart and accept it wasn’t going to happen for us?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she stammered. And it was true. She hadn’t planned or plotted. There was no method to her madness—she’d been acting on pure, fear-driven instinct.
“You’ll forgive me if I find it hard to believe a word you say right now,” he said.
She took a step toward him, but he raised a hand to ward her off and she stopped in her tracks. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
A Natural Father Page 14