Her New Year Baby Surprise

by Sue MacKay

Trish shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘No headache, dizziness? Cramps? Something out of the ordinary?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Hey, Trish. Heard you were here.’ Emma arrived from dumping her bag in her locker and smiled at their patient. ‘Came luxury class too.’

  ‘Beats being carried out of the bush.’ Then Trish’s face dropped. ‘If my ankle’s broken I’m going to have to put it up, right?’

  ‘Afraid so,’ Nixon agreed. ‘Bill will have full range of the cart for a while.’

  ‘Don’t smile about it, Doc. I’m the bagel queen, not him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have said Bill was any kind of queen.’ Emma chuckled. ‘All bloke from top to toe, not that I’ve seen his toes, mind. Does he wear nail polish under his socks?’

  ‘I heard that, young lady,’ growled Trish’s husband from behind them. ‘Just as well I broke the speed limits to get here. Who knows what stories you’d make up about me given half a chance?’

  ‘Bill, glad you’re here.’ Nixon nodded.

  While Emma wrapped him in a hug. ‘You didn’t wait for Punch, then?’

  ‘The medic said they’d drop him round at the house.’

  Nixon shook his head. ‘The patients those guys carry. Let’s get Trish onto a bed. I’m sure Callum wants his stretcher back so he can go rescue someone else.’

  ‘More like grab a coffee and some breakfast,’ Callum said. ‘Good luck, Trish. Bill, if you need a hand with anything around the property while you’re short staffed give me a call.’

  ‘Sure will. There’s a lot to be sorted before the auction next month.’

  Emma stilled. ‘Auction? You’re not selling my favourite house?’

  ‘Yes, lass, we are,’ Bill started. ‘It’s getting too big for us, and neither of the lads are interested in coming back to live in Queenstown. We want a new house that doesn’t need loads of upkeep and a section I can mow in five minutes not five hours.’

  ‘Mum never said a word.’ Emma’s mouth drooped and the gleam in her eyes dulled. ‘I have a lot of happy memories playing there with Trish and Bill’s sons when I was little,’ she told Nixon. ‘Our families are close.’

  ‘How many acres you got, Bill?’ Nixon asked.

  ‘Four and a bit. The house is big with five bedrooms.’

  Emma’s sigh was long and nostalgic. ‘It’s ideal for a couple with young children.’ She shrugged, lifted those eyes to him. ‘Need me for anything before I head to triage?’

  A kiss. With some follow up! Knowing the feeling of her body in his arms, small and light, strong and hot, he had no chance of forgetting the desire she lifted in him. Yep, idiot that he was, still not a hundred per cent certain how ready Emma was, he wanted to hold her in his arms to repeat that kiss, to have a relationship with her. Which underlined how messed up he was, because relationships were what other people had, not him. ‘I’ve got this.’

  ‘Sure.’ No tension today. But then last night had ended on a good note. A hot note.

  Forget what it felt like to have Emma’s lips on yours, her body pressed close to your chest. Just forget it, okay? Right now you’re a doctor—with a patient waiting for your undivided attention.

  Poking his head out of the cubicle, he looked around for an available nurse, wishing Emma were free. ‘Carl, in here.’ Back to Trish, trying not to give her any more pain as he touched the swollen ankle. ‘I’d say you’ve fractured some tarsal bones. I’ll arrange an X-ray now. Carl, can you clean that wound on Trish’s upper arm and I’ll put some sutures in shortly?’

  Emma returned. ‘We’ve got a twenty-year-old tourist in the waiting room who walked in off the street after riding his bike into the back of a truck. Broken nose, teeth, shoulder injury. Concussion likely. I tried to bring him straight through but he refused to budge.’

  Nixon approached the guy sitting half sprawled on the chairs, covered in blood and looking miserable. In pain and angry. ‘I’m a doctor. Do you speak English?’

  ‘Sì,’ a girl beside him answered. ‘A little.’

  So why hadn’t they talked to Emma? ‘Come through so I can examine you.’

  ‘Rocco trying talk to insurance,’ the girl explained. ‘We wait ’til he know.’

  Nixon shook his head. ‘You’ll come now.’ The financial side of things was someone else’s problem. ‘Rocco needs medical help, now.’ If he said now often enough, the message might get through. The guy needed stitches on his chin and forehead at least. His left arm was held against his chest. Broken arm or problem with the shoulder? Cameron wouldn’t be thrilled at getting an unexpected surgery this early in the day.

  Emma brought over a wheelchair. ‘You come.’ She nodded at the girl. ‘Jen, call me if anyone comes in.’

  The receptionist nodded. ‘Will do.’

  With Rocco on a bed, Emma began peeling away clothes so Nixon could see the extent of the injuries.

  Nixon caught a whiff of strawberry that was Emma. He wasn’t usually aware of the perfumes female staff wore, but his senses were hyper alert around Emma. Saturday, crammed into the Cessna, he’d breathed that scent, heard her every breath and movement, felt the air shift around them, known her excitement when she held the controls. Ever since, he’d been fighting those senses, trying to squeeze them back in their place and denying she’d piqued his interest on every level. He’d still gone to see her even when he’d also been busy reminding himself why they shouldn’t have a fling. If it was going to be a three-date thing, there was only one outing left.

  In the waiting room, a poster on the wall advertised a band playing on the foreshore this Friday night. When they had a spare moment he’d ask Emma if she’d like to go. Hopefully her mother or Abbie would babysit Rosie.

  So much for being friends. Friends didn’t kiss each other with tongues involved. Didn’t share kisses that cranked up the heat in his veins, in his groin. Kisses that knocked the air out of his lungs. Kept him awake all night, every night. Emma was the reason he felt lethargic and groggy and had to fight to concentrate on his patients.

  ‘Doctor, put these on.’ Emma winked as she held out two latex gloves.

  ‘Thank you, Nurse.’

  ‘You want me to collect the suture kit?’ She grinned. ‘You do seem a little distracted this morning.’

  She was flirting with him. ‘Would you please go to the cupboard by Resus and get the kit off the third shelf and bring it to me?’ He grinned back. So this was what it was like to get a little closer to someone. Fun, flirty, and exciting. As long as he remembered first and foremost why he was here. ‘Rocco, I am going to examine your arm and shoulder.’ He looked to the young woman. ‘Understand? Comprendo?’

  ‘Sì.’ She rattled off something in what sounded Italian and his patient lifted his arm.

  ‘Comprendo?’ Emma laughed. ‘Stick to your day job, Doctor!’

  ‘Rocco, tell me where this hurts.’

  Asking Emma out would wreck the three-date rule because this wouldn’t be the last time. Emma was tearing down his norms, beating the barriers to the ground, intriguing him, tempting him into an area he’d never stepped in before.

  His skin lifted as a chill touched him. Don’t invite her. Find a woman who wants fun for a night and walk away in the morning without a backward glance.

  He’d done that too often; now he wanted something different, something more sincere, something with possibilities.

  Wanting was one thing…actually following through was another. There’d be consequences for both of them. Was he ready? Was he not? When would the point come when he threw caution aside and leapt in? Now?

  *

  Emma slipped her new blue blouse over her head and smoothed it down her breasts. Breasts that had mostly stopped aching every time Grace cried. They were starting to resume their old shape and size. The blouse with its downward pattern added to the slimmer look. The short black skirt hugged her hips and settled at mid-thigh.

  Slipping on shoes with killer heels, which would give h
er pain by the end of the night, she studied the result in the full-length mirror. Not bad considering she wasn’t back to her figure yet. Excitement fizzed along her veins. A night out with a hot guy. A night where she could forget being a mum, and be a single woman having fun. A night that could lead to anything.

  The doorbell buzzed. Old monsters tapped her brain, tightening her stomach. Was she doing the right thing? She trusted Nixon, believed he was genuine, so, yes, right as right could be. Slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder, Emma headed for the front door and the man who was pressing the button a second time. ‘Let’s go party,’ she quipped as she shut the door behind her.

  The atmosphere was electric when they pushed their way through the crowd to a street bar for some beer. The band was in full swing and people were laughing, dancing, and drinking. Every language in the book seemed to be in the air, tourists and locals mixing comfortably. ‘I haven’t been to anything like this in years,’ Emma told Nixon, who held her hand firmly.

  ‘Sleeping Beauty awakens,’ he replied, those beautiful eyes twinkling.

  ‘Don’t think that makes you a prince,’ she retorted around a smile.

  Downtown, they strolled around the crowd’s perimeter to find somewhere to sit, watch and listen. But within minutes of settling on a stone bench Emma stood up to sway in time to the music. When she tipped her head back to stare up at the sky her hair swung from side to side. A glance at Nixon showed his eyes fixed on her hair and a thrill of excitement caught her. Say what he liked, he was keen on her. ‘Hey.’ She held out her hand. ‘Get your butt up here and show me your moves.’

  His eyes widened but he was on his feet in an instant. ‘You’re on.’

  Bleeding heck. The man had all the right moves. Those long legs were whippet-strong, his body bending and rolling, and his eyes—locked on her all the time. Blasting her with heat, drying her mouth, softening her limbs and forming warm knots in her stomach and places beyond. Winding her arms around his neck, she continued dancing. When his hands spread across the small of her back she felt secure and safe and happy and—yes, damn it, totally ready for a whole lot more than kisses.

  ‘We’ve got all night,’ he breathed beside her ear.

  Her answer was to move her hips against him, to sway in time to the music up against his chest, teasing her nipples tight. All night. The words repeated in her head. A promise? Oh, yes. That was her interpretation and she was sticking to it.

  They danced until the band took a break. Nixon asked, ‘You want to find somewhere for a meal?’

  The air was warm, the sky sparkling with stars. ‘How about street food from one of the carts and we take it down on the foreshore?’

  ‘Sounds good to me. We can come back to dance some more afterwards.’

  She slipped her hand into his, and they queued for kebabs, just like any regular couple. Except nothing was regular for her. ‘Dating could become my favourite pastime.’

  ‘Mine too.’ Nixon ran a finger down her cheek, across her lips. ‘Think we can do this without falling out at the end of the night?’

  ‘I’m over that. We get on so well I don’t like it when we have a spat. So, yes, we can, we will, go home happy with each other.’ Her fingers on her left hand, the one out of his sight, crossed ever so slightly. No harm in adding a dollop of good luck to the mix.

  Tasty food sitting on the foreshore amidst the crowd, a buzzing atmosphere, and Nixon dancing with her. What more could a girl want? She had it all. The hours flew past in a blur of heat, yearning, sore feet from those heels, and Nixon. Nixon’s smiles, his kisses, his hands on her back and her waist and her shoulders; laughter that made her forget everything but him.

  Then the band was packing up and the crowd spilling deeper into the town centre where the bars were waiting. Nixon draped an arm over her shoulders and tucked her close to him. ‘Want another drink?’

  ‘I hate admitting this but I’m ready to quit.’ Nine-thirty bedtimes were her norm these days.

  ‘I’m relieved,’ he whispered. ‘And I don’t have Rosie to blame.’ His chin grazed her cheek before his mouth covered hers.

  ‘A couple of geriatrics, aren’t we?’ she said when they pulled apart.

  ‘I didn’t say the night was over. I’m just not interested in hanging around with half of Queenstown and a gazillion tourists any longer.’

  The night wasn’t over. Anticipation pushed aside her growing weariness. Her feet found a second life, all but skipping back to Nixon’s vehicle. Then cold reality struck. He probably meant he’d have a coffee with her before heading back to his place. This was Nixon, the avoidance expert.

  ‘Where’s Rosie tonight?’ he asked when he parked outside her front gate.

  ‘At Mum’s.’ As in, not coming home until after breakfast. She held her breath. Should she make a move? Ask him in? But the words weren’t there. She didn’t know how to invite a man into her home for some loving, and was afraid of being turned down when she wanted it so badly.

  Nixon got out of the four-wheel drive and came around to open her door, held her hand as she climbed down, kept hold of it all the way up the path, through the door, and along the hall to her bedroom. Not a word, not a questioning look. Confident and certain was this Nixon.

  The insecurities fell away as he turned to her, took her in his arms and said, ‘May I?’ and kissed her thoroughly. A kiss deeper than any she’d experienced. A kiss that sparked to life all the desire and need she’d been trying to keep a lid on from the moment she’d opened her door to him earlier.

  She was free, able to do what she’d wanted to do with Nixon for ages. He was giving her the opportunity and wouldn’t back off.

  Then that hot, tantalising mouth tugged away. ‘This isn’t too soon for you? It’s only been a few weeks since the birth.’

  It might hurt a bit, but somehow she believed that’d be lost in the heat and need and desire. ‘Let’s see how it goes.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’

  That was a bucket of cold water being tipped over her feverish skin. She kissed him to show she had no intention of going carefully. It must’ve worked because his fingers were at the buttons of her blouse, clumsily undoing them, his skin skimming hers. As soon as the buttons were dealt with she tugged the blouse off and tried to squeeze out of the tight skirt. Nixon’s hands covered hers, pushed the skirt down over her butt, her thighs, to her knees, where it dropped around her feet. And then…one touch and she was quivering and tight and hot and cold. And crying for him to hurry.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Em.’ His fingers did some serious touching, whipping up a storm along her veins.

  ‘You’re not. You’re—’ She gasped around a shudder of need. ‘You’re—Let me touch you.’

  ‘Wait. We’ve got all night.’

  Yes, but there are two of us here. ‘I won’t last five seconds if you keep doing that.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to do it again.’

  You’re welcome.

  As she gave into the shudders wracking her body her world spiralled out of control. She was sprawled across Nixon, his naked torso an aphrodisiac under her palms. Not that she needed one. Everything about Nixon turned her on. When had they got onto the bed? His erection pressed against her belly, his tongue now teasing her tender nipple, a tenderness she forgot as waves of need rolled through her when she’d barely recovered from the first onslaught.

  Pushing up, tugging free of that exquisite mouth, she reached for him, held him, moved slowly, up and down.

  ‘Condom,’ Nixon gasped.

  ‘Let’s keep doing it this way.’ It felt right, and eased her worry of being too close too soon after the birth.

  ‘Emma,’ Nixon groaned. Then he was back to arousing her, and they were together, moving as one, the pressure building. He brought her to the peak, restraining himself until she exploded, then quickly joined her.

  Emma’s breathing took for ever to return to normal. If that was making love then she hadn’t lived.
How soon could they do it again? Hell. She hadn’t even got her breath back. Neither had Nixon. Her hand reached for his, her fingers interlaced with his. Hot, sweaty, strong, gentle. Now she knew what those hands had been made for. And she wanted to get to know them even more.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NIXON WATCHED EMMA scooping Rosie up into her arms and kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Anyone would think you’d been apart for a week, not one night.’ He chuckled, acknowledging the warmth and tenderness in his gut, and his heart, for both these adorable females.

  Making love with Emma last night, he’d felt as if his world had finally come together for the first time since his family had left him. It had been a revelation. Emma was so generous with her loving he’d been lost for a while. Then she’d grounded him, made unspoken promises of more to come if he was prepared to reach out and take a chance. He’d gone into this thinking he’d be able to knock the monkey off his back for good, return to being friends once the mystery of Emma was exposed. He had not expected to feel smitten, to want more, to hate the idea of closing the door on what they had. Friends they might’ve been, but now they were so much more. They were lovers.

  For now.

  For longer?

  For ever?

  That meant accepting he’d never again be abandoned by someone he loved, or at least making the most of every day between now and when—if—that happened. Might mean accepting he had been loved all along as he grew up.

  ‘Nixon, pick me up,’ demanded Rosie. ‘I want a hug.’

  ‘What madam wants, madam shall have.’ He swung the bouncing girl up against his chest, savouring the closeness, absorbing the smell of soap and cornflakes and…? ‘You had chocolate for breakfast?’

  ‘Don’t tell Mummy I ate a Santa off the tree.’

  ‘It’s our secret.’

  Rosie wriggled and wriggled, her small hands batting at his shoulders. ‘Can we take my kite to the park?’

  Nixon looked over her head to Emma, and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Later. Wave goodbye to Grandma, Rosie.’

  ‘It’ll have to be the waterfront. I’m on call,’ Nixon said.