Maybe This Time

by Joan Kilby

  Darcy wound up the dance with a light bounce on his toes. “Hey, Macarena!”

  Billy erupted in a tiny giggle and squirmed as if wanting more.

  “Oh, my God, that was too much.” Laughing, Emma pressed a hand to her chest. “You should be on Funniest Home Videos.”

  Darcy sat again, one of Billy’s feet resting in each palm. “We could do that, upload a clip to YouTube. It’d be a hit.”

  “You are not putting our baby on YouTube.” She put down her spoon and pushed her bowl away. “That was lovely, thank you. I hate to spoil the party, but Billy and I should get going if you wouldn’t mind driving us home.”

  “No can do. Sienna said you needed to rest for at least a week. This is your first day out of bed. You might feel better but you’re still weak. You don’t want to have a relapse.”

  “I’m a nurse,” she said in her most capable voice. “I know when I’m well enough to move.”

  “As a nurse, you should have known better than to let yourself get so sick. You should have sought help,” he countered in the same reasonable tone.

  “I...” He might have a small point there.

  “And all your books and papers were spread out on your dining table. It looked as though you were working on something big.”

  “I do still have a term paper to write.”

  Darcy reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. The warmth in his fingers matched the warmth in his gaze. “All the more reason for you to stay here. You’re not well enough yet to cope on your own.”

  If ever words should make her hackles stand up, those were the ones. Her whole life was predicated on her ability to cope. But the seeping warmth from his fingers was doing something subversive to her desire to stand on her own two feet. Being looked after was seductive. And that was dangerous.

  When she was sick and unable to do more than lie in bed she hadn’t thought of Darcy as a man. Now that she was starting to feel better, she was aware of him physically, of his shoulders and his mouth and his dark eyes that always seemed to be smiling at some inside joke.

  And she was sleeping in their old bed, a place of a million memories of tenderness and passion. One night, in a moment of weakness and the loneliness that had never gone away, would she be tempted to invite him to share it with her? Just once, for old time’s sake. Yeah, they’d seen how well that worked out on the cruise.

  She tugged her hand out from under his and cool air wafted over her skin. “Thank you, Darcy, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  The question, put point-blank, was impossible to answer. Because I’m still attracted to you and I don’t want to be. I can’t risk falling for you again. You don’t want to be my husband, and despite the fun you have with Billy, you don’t really want to be a father to our child.

  “My books and laptop are at my apartment.”

  “No, they’re not. I brought them when I moved you in.”

  She sat back, stymied. “I’m taking up your bedroom. You can’t be comfortable on the couch.”

  “It’s no big deal. Maybe you’re forgetting how long and wide the couch is.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “How firm the cushions. Great support.”

  Her cheeks heated at the oblique reminder of the many times they’d made love on that piece of furniture.

  “And,” Darcy continued, “I’m still hoping you can help me out with the color scheme for the pub.”

  “You don’t need me to be on-site for that.”

  Billy started to fuss. Darcy unzipped the carrier and pulled him out. “Okay, buddy. Want to go see your mum?”

  Emma had no choice but to take the baby. She felt herself tense up when the small solid body landed in her lap. Immediately she held him up at arm’s length. “Hello, little man. Have you been a good boy for your daddy?”

  She glanced up to see Darcy watching her, an odd quizzical expression on his face. Had he noticed her coolness toward Billy? Could he tell she was only going through the motions, that the warmth in her voice when she spoke to her son was fake? Her mothering ability was on display—and wanting. She hoped Darcy put it down to the lingering effects of her pneumonia. After the way she’d pestered him to have another baby he would be shocked to know that now she wondered if she’d done the right thing in having Billy. And how rotten did that make her feel?

  She sat Billy on her knee and faced him toward the table where he could bat at a toy Darcy had left lying there. “Tell me more about your plans for the pub.”

  “My father gave me architect’s drawings of how this place was supposed to be built originally. It has a kitchen and a garden room. Kind of like a beer garden but enclosed in glass so it’s usable all year round.”

  “Sounds amazing. Why have we never heard of or seen these plans before?”

  “Dad shelved them. Thought it was too much trouble I guess. But now that the wine bar is making inroads on my business—”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “Nothing I can’t bounce back from. But this is a good excuse to give the place a facelift. New carpets, furniture, paint, the works.”

  “That’s a great idea. The pub is so dark and gloomy.”

  “You mean warm and cozy.”

  “Whatever. Bright colors and better lighting would be a big improvement.”

  “So you’ll stay and help me choose a color scheme and fabrics and paint?”

  “I’d be happy to help.”

  And happy to stay a little longer, if she was honest. She was much better, but the thought of facing her messy apartment, of caring for Billy all by herself again was daunting. Oh, she knew this was only temporary until she felt strong enough to deal with life and her feelings—or lack of them—for Billy. But for now Darcy’s offer was a lifeline.

  Not because she didn’t love her baby enough, but because she loved him too much to be his only care-provider. He deserved so much more than she was capable of giving him right now.

  “I can’t pay you,” he said candidly.

  “I would never expect it. In fact, if you say anything like that again I’ll have to get insulted.”

  “We’re not married anymore. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “We’re friends. You said so yourself.”

  Their eyes met. A spark of warmth jumped across the table, so strong she had to look down. She fiddled with the top snap on Billy’s sleeper. This was exactly the kind of thing she was afraid of—those small, unexpected moments when she and Darcy connected. What happened on the cruise was no accident. There was still so much attraction there. And caring. And yes, way down deep, possibly the remnants of love.

  Yet even with all that going for them, they hadn’t been able to sustain a marriage. It would be easy to fall for him again. But no way did she want to dive into that deep well of pain.

  Billy continued to fuss.

  “Maybe he’s hungry,” Darcy said. “I fed him formula while you were sick, but I expect you want to nurse him again.”

  “Yes, yes of course.” She wanted to succeed at nursing Billy, she really did. It was the part of mothering Holly that she’d found most rewarding in the early days. If she was ever going to connect with her son, breast-feeding would give her the best chance.

  “I might go lie down and nurse him. I feel tired again. I guess I’m weaker than I thought.”

  Darcy helped her into the bedroom to get settled then sat on the bed, still holding Billy. “Your milk should come in stronger now that you’re recovering. You need to keep at it. The sucking action stimulates the lachrymal glands, which produce milk in accordance with demand.”

  It sounded so much like a quote she had to bite back a smile. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I read it in a book. I brought over your baby manuals, too. I didn’t know how long you were going to be out of action.”

  Darcy reading up on baby care. Would wonders never cease?

  He transferred Billy to her. “I was going to chat about the
color scheme while you feed him but if you’d rather I left, I understand.”

  “You can stay.” Immediately she regretted saying that. In the old days, the sight of Holly nursing used to turn Darcy on. Once the baby was in bed, she and Darcy would make love. But that was then and this was now, and nothing was the same. She lifted her top and unclipped the flap on her maternity bra, pulling it down to expose her full breast.

  Darcy’s eyes darkened. As if needing to get away, he rose and walked over to the dresser, putting away some clean socks he’d left there earlier.

  Emma sucked in a breath and prepared herself for the pain of Billy latching on. He’d nursed so much in the first months, trying to get enough milk, that even with a few days’ respite her nipples were still cracked and raw-looking. She couldn’t help the hissed intake of breath as he latched on.

  Darcy glanced around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She sighed. There was no pretending. “It hurts like hell.”

  “Is there anything I can do? Get you some ointment?”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said grimly.

  He winced, no doubt reflecting the expression on her face. “Breastfeeding isn’t the only way to bond with your baby.”

  She went still. “Why would you say that? Did Sienna mention something to you?” It was one thing to talk to her doctor about the problem, quite another for Darcy to know.

  “Sienna only talked about your pneumonia. I said that because it’s true. There’s a whole chapter on bonding in one of your books.”

  “I meant, why do you think I haven’t bonded with Billy?” She set her jaw against the pain as he suckled noisily. “I’m crazy about him.”

  “You’re not fooling me. At first I thought your strange behavior was because you’re sick, but after seeing the way you held him in the kitchen...” He sat on the bed again. “What’s wrong, Em? Talk to me.”

  “Oh, Darcy.” She bit her lip, trying to control her emotions, but with being so worn down physically, they were too close to the surface. Despite her efforts, a tear spilled down her cheek. She told him everything—all the problems with low milk supply, the colic, the sleepless nights, the stress....

  “I don’t l-love him. Sometimes I almost hate him and wish he’d never been born. I’m a bad mother. I’ve tried to change but the harder I try, the worse everything gets. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I don’t think you’re a bad mother.” Darcy stroked his jaw, frowning. “But I don’t know how to fix this. Reading a few baby books hasn’t made me an expert.”

  “Oh, Darcy,” she said wearily. “It’s not something you can fix. It just is. Don’t worry. I’m going to take care of him. You won’t be encumbered with me and Billy forever. Once I’m well and your decorating scheme is sorted out, I’ll be on my way.” She wiped her eyes with the edge of the coverlet. “Sorry. Have you got a tissue?”

  He handed her the box from the dresser, his expression troubled. Darcy liked things to be light and happy. He wasn’t good with darker emotions. She wished now she hadn’t burdened him, or made herself vulnerable. He was being really nice about taking care of her and Billy, but he didn’t want to be flung into that well of pain again, either. She would see it in the wariness in his eyes.

  She stuck her baby finger in the corner of Billy’s mouth to break the seal then transferred him to the other breast. “You seem to have bonded with him. What happened? What made you change your mind about Billy?”

  “I haven’t changed my mind about anything, but someone has to change him and feed him while you’re out of commission. I saw the way you were with him...not present emotionally. I realized that someone had to be. It’s only a stopgap until you come back online.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” It was only a tiny step forward, but the implications were huge. Darcy had acknowledged that they both shared responsibility for their son’s well-being. It took a burden off Emma and strengthened the fragile connection between her and Darcy, and between Darcy and his son.

  “He’s asleep,” Emma whispered. Billy’s mouth had come away from her nipple. Somehow she hadn’t noticed the pain so much with Darcy there.

  “I’ll put him in his cot.” As Darcy bent over to carefully gather him up, his hair brushed her cheek and she inhaled his scent. His face was close to her bare breast and the glistening nipple. Awareness thrummed through her. He hesitated then put his mouth around her nipple and gave one gentle suck.

  Oh, oh, oh. It was a cheeky thing to do. But tender and erotic at the same time. The sensation was electric, shooting down mysterious pathways straight to her core. She wanted to push her fingers into his hair and drag him back down for a kiss.

  But there was a little something between them. And he was starting to stir. Darcy straightened with Billy in his arms, his gaze somehow both sheepish and ardent as he rocked the baby back to sleep. “Sorry. Impulse.”

  Feeling her cheeks heat, she pulled her top down. “We should talk about colors.”

  “I’ll put him to bed and get the swatches from my office.” Darcy took Billy into the next room. A moment later she heard him going down the internal staircase that led to his office. He returned quickly, his arms laden with samples. He spread them out over the coverlet and sprawled across the end of the bed.

  Emma played with fabric and paint samples, matching colors and textures. “Deep coral walls would brighten up the place and go well with the wooden bar and trim.”

  “Coral?” Darcy groaned. “That’s so girlie.”

  “Pale pink would be girly. Coral is warm and inviting, modern but not cold. And a lot lighter than the wood paneling.”

  “Don’t forget there’s going to be a garden room. That will brighten the place.”

  “About that...don’t you think you should accomplish this in smaller chunks? Do a little bit at a time, keep the work and the costs under control.”

  “That’s your way. You want every tiny step perfected before you move on to the next tiny step. It makes more sense to me to do the whole thing at once. Get it all out of the way so I can start fresh.”

  “Yes, but will you actually do it? Doing it your way it’s easier to put things off because the bites are too big to chew. You can do a lot with simple cosmetic changes.”

  “Structural first. It’s logical.” The way he said logical was deliberately provocative, as if logic was the male province. Which was a joke because they both knew who was the logical one, and it wasn’t him.

  She batted his arm with a fabric swatch. “Do you want my help with this project, or not?”

  After that, an element of flirtation crept into their bantering exchanges. Darcy’s laughing gaze slipped now and then to her breasts. Or even more provocative, held her gaze. She began to feel a little breathless. This was dangerous. What she’d always found hard to resist with Darcy was the fun he put into life.

  Even something like decorating a pub could be exciting with him involved. She should be doing her term paper not lounging in bed, talking and joking, admiring his dancing dark eyes and the lazy way he sprawled, broad shoulders at an angle, one leg bent at the knee. The other leg hung half off the end of the bed, foot jiggling in that way he had of always being in motion.

  Well, the paper could wait a little longer.

  * * *

  AS DARCY SAW IT, anyone could be a bartender dispensing drinks, but it took a special personality to be a publican. His father had had the knack of talking to anyone, rich or poor, educated or not, as though they were his most important customer. Darcy had it, too. Now Billy, the third generation Lewis male, watched avidly from a front-row seat strapped to Darcy’s chest. Of course, with Emma’s smarts, Billy might not be interested in the pub. He might become a doctor or a veterinarian or even an interior decorator.

  According to Emma he had colic and cried every night for hours. Darcy believed her but for some reason, since he’d been staying at the pub, Billy didn’t cry—as long as he was being carried face-out in the baby carrier
.

  The kid was a babe magnet. Three young women, all glammed up for a girls’ night out, cooed over him and flirted with Darcy every time he moved to their end of the bar. They’d said when they came in they only planned to stay for one drink before heading to Frankston’s club scene, but he’d just mixed them a second round of cocktails. Forget renovations, maybe male waiters accessorized with cute babies were all he needed to improve business.

  “Hey, Darcy, can I borrow your kid?” Ron, the real estate agent from down the block, leaned on the bar in his rolled-up shirtsleeves.

  “Sure, he’s due for a diaper change.” Darcy laughed at Ron’s grimace and removed an empty highball glass. “Same again?” He poured Ron another bourbon and moved along to Tony and his girlfriend, Cerise, a bouncy brunette with sparkling eyes who gazed adoringly at Tony. Tony couldn’t keep his hands off her. Ah, young love. Wouldn’t it be great to be that innocently happy again?

  “Another round?” he asked the couple.

  “One more, please.” Cerise pushed her empty cocktail glass across the bar, turning to Tony. “Then we have to go to the rehearsal dinner.”

  “Her sister’s getting married,” Tony explained to Darcy. “Giving her ideas.” Cerise dug him in the ribs with her elbow and he grabbed her hand to hold it. “I’ll try a Red Hill pilsner this time. These new beers you got are ace.”

  “I aim to please.” Darcy cracked a bottle, poured it into a glass and set it on a fresh cardboard coaster. It wasn’t a bad thing that he was having to lift his game now that the wine bar had opened.

  He picked up a towel and started to dry glasses, ignoring the trio of girls and their batting eyelashes. Even sick, Emma had it all over them. He recalled his daring taste of her exposed nipple. Too bold? Hmm, maybe not, if the gleam in her eye was anything to go by.

  Bold or not, taking Emma’s breast into his mouth had been stupid and reckless, like a child playing with matches. They’d had their day and called it quits for good reasons, reasons that hadn’t gone away.

  A sudden cheer rose from the crowd of guys watching the football quarter finals. Their team must have got a goal. He concentrated on polishing the glass. Football didn’t interest him anymore.