by Kim Lawrence
‘I’m amazed Justin didn’t persuade you to buy something more. . . spacious.’
‘Justin didn’t sleep over.’ She was too flustered by the way his eyes skimmed over her face and lower to dissemble.
‘But I thought you two. . . ?’
‘We did!’ she assured him, her face ablaze with embarrassment. There had been a time when she’d been able to discuss anything with Liam without suffering a scrap of self-consciousness. She somehow doubted that time would ever return. ‘I always needed to get up early in the morning and. . . We both like our privacy. . . ’
‘God knows what you ever saw in him.’ Liam’s scornful comment cut into her rambling justification for the lack of passion in her sex life.
Before she hadn’t even noticed that the routine of her professional life was echoed in the more private aspects of her life. Before she hadn’t been aware of a sense of dissatisfaction. Her life seemed to have fallen into two definite areas: life before she’d taken Liam into her bed, and life after. She must stop making comparisons.
It felt extremely disloyal to Justin to constantly contrast his lovemaking with the madness of that night. Her state of mind had obviously had a lot to do with it, she told herself—even if they wanted to they couldn’t repeat that sort of wild intensity again. Now why did she go and think that?
‘I saw a kind, considerate—’ she began fiercely.
‘Unimaginative, boring. . . ’
‘I don’t know why you’re so mean about Justin—after all, it was you who encouraged me to sleep with him!’ she pointed out crossly.
‘I did what?’ In other circumstances the rigid outrage on his face might have made her laugh.
‘You were always teasing me about being a. . . you know—’
‘Virgin?’
‘Exactly.’ She frowned at the interruption, implying with a disdainful glance that she hadn’t been struggling for words at all. ‘It was you who said I shouldn’t wait for some white knight, I should get out there and—’
‘I didn’t!’ he began, his colour heightened.
‘Yes, you did. I just followed your advice.’
‘For God’s sake,’ he protested, ‘I didn’t mean for you to sleep with just anyone, just for the sake of it. It’s worth waiting for someone special. . . ’ He looked totally appalled at the notion that his joking remarks could have been so influential.
‘Like you did,’ she put in with sweet-faced malice. He had the grace to look sheepish.
‘That’s different!’
‘It certainly is,’ she agreed wholeheartedly. ‘What I had with Justin involved neither selfishness or shallow thrill-seeking. For goodness’ sake, Liam, don’t look so devastated. I didn’t jump into bed with Justin just because I thought you felt I ought to, or because you were my role model. I fell in love with him.’ Hearing the defiance in her tone made her frown. The admission didn’t appear to appease Liam either.
‘Then why the hell didn’t you want his babies? According to you, you’ve got this biological time bomb ticking away.’
She blinked. Good question. ‘Who said I didn’t?’ she prevaricated glibly.
‘You refused to marry him so it logically follows—’
‘Oh, don’t start flinging your own peculiar brand of logic at me. The timing was wrong, that’s all.’
‘And now?’
‘You can’t turn back the clock.’
‘If you could. . . ?’
He didn’t ask easy questions, did he? ‘I wish you’d just leave me in peace to sleep. I can’t think straight, let alone play your stupid games of if onlys.’ The dark circles under her eyes gave added weight to this claim; they made Liam back off, anyway.
‘Goodnight, Jo.’
She pulled the covers over her head and huddled down. Pity he wasn’t always so sensitive to her needs. This thought led irresistibly to a series of sizzling memories that proved beyond any shadow of a doubt just how sensitive Liam could be to her needs. He’d seemed to know what she wanted before she did.
The sound of the telephone dragged Jo from a shallow, dream-filled slumber. A light shone from the open door of the living room. She opened her eyes in time to see Liam fling himself at the shrill instrument and grab it off the receiver mid-shriek.
‘I’ll take it.’ She reached out as he picked it up.
He blinked and rubbed his tousled hair when he saw her open eyes. ‘Sorry, I tried to get here before it woke you.’ The buttons on his shirt had come adrift almost to his waist and his olive-toned skin gleamed in the subdued light. She tore her eyes firmly away from the spectacle of his heavily muscled torso.
‘Hello. Hello, Uncle Pat. Yes, yes, he is here.’ She grimaced as she passed the phone to Liam. ‘It’s for you.’
‘Father.’ His jaw tightened as he listened to the blistering diatribe from the other end. ‘There never has been a secret affair.’
Jo glanced at the clock—two-thirty. She could see how Liam being in her flat at that time in the morning might lead his father to believe he’d been lied to. There were some very natural conclusions most people would jump to. Ironically Liam had slept on her sofa several times before—on those occasions they might just have talked too late into the night for it to be sensible for him to go home, or they might have shared a bit too much wine. Nobody had rung on those innocent occasions and it would never have occurred to her to have been embarrassed about the fact he’d slept over.
As she watched Liam listening it soon became obvious that something was wrong—badly wrong. She could see it in the tension that stiffened his big body in a tense, unnatural posture. He rubbed the palm of his hand against the rigid, dark-shadowed line of his angular jaw. The curling sweep of his dark eyelashes was the only hint of softness in his otherwise rather harsh features; right now they cloaked his expression. The strong premonition of disaster settled like an icy stone in the pit of her belly.
‘Yes, I understand. I’ll be there.’
‘What’s wrong, Liam?’ she asked, anxiety shining in the smoky green depths of her eyes.
The disturbing blankness drained from his eyes as he looked at her. ‘It’s Mum, they think she’s had a heart attack.’
Jo caught her breath sharply. ‘She’s not. . . ?’ She wasn’t even aware of raising herself on her knees and grabbing the fabric of his loosened shirt.
‘No, she’s alive,’ he replied immediately. ‘They’ve taken her to The Royal. I’ll ring you when I know what’s happening.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said, scrambling out of bed. ‘I’m coming with you.’
‘You can’t—’
‘I can and I am.’ She grabbed underwear from a drawer and tugged the nightdress over her head. The situation put false modesty firmly in its place. It put a lot of things in perspective. Aunt Maggie was one of the dearest people in the world and since her own mother’s death she had occupied a very special place in Jo’s heart.
Her hurried movements had an innate grace and her total lack of self-consciousness contrasted starkly with her previous awkward posture in his presence. Liam stood for a moment looking at the vulnerable, desirable image of her naked back. The feminine dip of her narrow waist and the gentle flair of hips that bordered on the boyish.
He nodded. ‘Fine.’
‘I won’t be a minute,’ she yelled after him. ‘Don’t go without me.’
‘How is she?’
Patrick Rafferty seemed shrunk somehow to Jo’s eyes; his big body lacked the vitality she’d always associated with him. He was sitting hunched up in the corner of the small, antiseptic white ante-room into which they’d been directed. He looked up as Liam spoke and Jo was shocked by the anger in his face.
‘And you care, I suppose?’
‘You know I do.’ Liam spoke quietly.
‘She’s not stopped fretting about you since she learnt about the baby. If you hadn’t acted like an irresponsible, selfish adolescent this wouldn’t have happened. A bullet would have been kinder,’ he acc
used wildly. ‘It was the first thing on her mind every morning she woke up and every night it was the last thing she talked about. It’s your fault. The very sight of you makes me sick.’ His accent had regressed to the brogue of his youth and his deep voice shook with passion. He got to his feet stiffly; his full height was almost that of his son’s. His big hands curled ominously into fists at his side.
Liam didn’t offer any excuses or a defence of any kind. The detached calm she’d watched grow during the journey here seemed to deepen.
‘Well!’ Liam flinched as his father’s deep voice cracked. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
’Have you seen her, Dad?’
Pat Rafferty dropped back down into his seat and buried his face in his hands ‘The doctors are with her,’ he said in a muffled voice.
Jo walked over and took Liam’s stiff, cold fingers in her small hand. ‘He needs to blame someone,’ she said softly.
Liam looked down at their joined hands and then at Jo’s face. ‘I know.’
‘He doesn’t mean it.’ Her thumb moved in circular motions over his palm. She didn’t think she could bear the bleakness in his eyes.
‘Of course he means it and why shouldn’t he? It’s true.’ The self-contempt in his voice was like a lash as it struck out. The impotence of her situation made Jo want to cry out. Far better to feel the pain herself than watch someone she loved suffering. And she loved Liam—always had. She couldn’t change that any more than she could alter the colour of her eyes.
‘Self-pity isn’t going to help Aunt Maggie.’ She dampened her first instinct which ran vaguely along the lines of throwing herself into his arms. The last thing he needs is me going all cloying and tearful, she decided.
‘Go and help Dad, Jo.’
I want to help you, she wanted to cry. The rejection nearly cracked her fragile composure. Just as well she didn’t take the emotional option. ‘He needs you, Liam.’
Whatever divisions the revelations of his prospective fatherhood had brought about, this tragedy threatened to widen the gulf between father and son. She couldn’t take responsibility for that and she couldn’t watch that gulf become unbridgeable.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, I know so, please, Liam.’ He met her pleading glance with all the appearance of disinterest. Jo wasn’t fooled—she knew how much he was hurting; she knew the coldness was a façade. She knew how much his father’s rejection had hurt him. ‘Are you so afraid of the possibility he’ll turn his back on you?’ She had to taunt just to get through to him.
‘I’m not. . . !’ he began, turning on her furiously.
‘Swallow your stiff-necked pride, Liam. Don’t let your guilt come between you and your father.’
A slow, reluctant smile entered his eyes. ‘You always were an interfering little minx.’
’Go on,’ she said, giving him a little push, ‘what’s the odd bloody nose between family?’
It didn’t come to that. She watched Liam sit beside his father and begin to speak, his voice low. He hadn’t spoken for long when she saw the older man’s shoulders begin to heave.
Arms around his weeping father, Liam cast a look of deep gratitude in Jo’s direction.
It hit her then. It didn’t really shock her as much as it might have—perhaps she’d secretly known all along. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t been in any hurry to find a man of her own. Perhaps that was why she had instinctively recoiled at the idea of formalising her tepid romance with Justin. There was no perhaps about the emotion that engulfed her now. She didn’t just love Liam, she was in love with him.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘IT COULD have been worse.’ Jo winced as the platitude slipped so readily from her lips.
This need to fill the silence was a new thing. In the past they hadn’t needed words to fill comfortable silences—but then this silence wasn’t comfortable. It was tense and awkward. Every time Jo looked at Liam she was afraid he would read her thoughts. I don’t want his pity, she thought defiantly—he shan’t know.
Liam just nodded. ‘Are they the day shift?’ he wondered out loud as they drove m the opposite direction to the steady stream of traffic entering the hospital. He glanced at his wrist-watch. ‘I’d lost track of time,’ he observed. ‘I suppose I should feed you.’
‘I’m easy.’
His lips twitched and the faint flicker of movement became a proper grin. ‘No, you’re hard work most of the time, but usually worth it.’
She didn’t read too much into this comment. It was relief, a manifestation of the euphoria that had been obvious in him since he’d spoken to the doctors.
‘You can just drop me off at Dad’s.’ She hoped he was still in bed. He’d probably go ballistic if he saw her getting out of Liam’s car. She wanted the chance to explain about Aunt Maggie before he waded in demanding blood.
‘Dare I take the risk? He might have his shotgun handy.’ Liam’s thoughts were obviously running along similar lines to her own. ‘Come to our place, Jo, and I’ll cook you something. I need to drop in there. I promised Dad I’d take him in a change of clothes and shaving gear.’
‘He needs a rest; you both do.’ She shot a swift, covetous look at his profile. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days.
‘He won’t leave her.’
‘No,’ she agreed quietly. ‘I am quite hungry,’ she admitted lightly.
‘I’m not surprised after last night,’ he observed, referring with a grimace to her sickness.
‘It shouldn’t last much longer—so they tell me.’ She certainly hoped the professionals knew what they were talking about. ‘I eat in the morning to compensate for later on. It won’t harm the baby,’ she reassured him. ‘I asked.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about the baby.’
’Oh! I’m tough,’ she assured him earnestly.
‘As old boots.’
The affection in the swift sideways glance had the power to suspend her heartbeat. Don’t do anything stupid like reading anything but friendship into that, she instructed herself sternly.
The four-wheel drive crunched over the gravelled surface of the long, crescent-shaped driveway. Jo looked out at the horses grazing in the lush paddock the driveway bisected. The horses had originally been a hobby which over the years had grown. Pat Rafferty had retired early from his law practice and was a well-respected and successful breeder these days.
The stables were busy, but the house was empty. She knew the absence of his mother hit Liam as he walked into the kitchen; she felt it herself and her heart ached for him. It was the one room that most echoed the warmth and humour of Maggie’s personality.
‘I suppose your stomach is a bit delicate?’ Liam filled the kettle and placed it on the hotplate of the Aga.
‘Not in the mornings’ She pulled out a chair beside the large scrubbed table.
‘Bacon, egg. . . sausage?’ He reached for two earthenware mugs.
‘Everything, I’m greedy.’ The memory came flooding back so abruptly she couldn’t breathe. She’d asked for everything before and had she received and given just that!
The sound of the mug smashing into a thousand pieces on the floor broke the sudden electric silence.
‘Hell!’ he swore softly. ‘Where does Mum keep the dustpan?’ His blue eyes had darkened several shades and his olive skin seemed to be drawn tighter over the sharp contours of his face.
She immediately recognised that her light-hearted reply had triggered the same response in him. Knowing her sensual fantasy was being shared only increased the heavy, hot languor that had invaded her entire body. Throat dry, heart thudding, she cleared her throat.
‘In the cupboard, over there.’ Despite her best efforts it was barely more than a husky whisper.
She ached for his touch; for a moment the yearning blanked out every other thought in her head. How had she been so blind to something that had been staring her in the face? Of course she wanted his child, she wanted every part of him. Greedy di
dn’t begin to cover the ferocity of her desire.
‘Thanks. Lucky it wasn’t the best china.’
‘Yes.’ The words didn’t mean anything, they just covered the gap in normality. Part of her still longed for that normality, but part of her was no longer satisfied with the comfortable security of their deep friendship. She needed more—much more. What an awful, hopeless situation to find herself in.
‘That should do it.’ He straightened up suddenly and she flushed, as would anybody caught ogling someone’s tight, masculine rear.
‘Women look too,’ she said belligerently, instinctively defending herself from the glitter of his blue eyes. Why, she wondered despairingly, didn’t I just keep my mouth shut like a normal person?
‘Was I objecting?’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Who needs subtlety? I’m an enthusiastic advocate of girl power.’
I just bet you are. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ It wasn’t surprising—he had all the smug confidence of someone who knew he had a beautiful body and sex appeal that went off the scale.
‘The fact I’m laughing at all is a miracle. A miracle only you could have brought about, Jo. You really are unique. Thank you.’
The unexpected and genuine warmth was lovely, but she’d have much preferred he thought of her as sexy and seductive rather than some sort of clown—unique or not.
‘I’d prefer feeding than thanking,’ she pointed out practically.
‘Of course you do, sorry.’
Liam’s plate was only half empty when he put his own knife and fork aside and, with his chin resting on steepled fingers, watched her demolish her food.
She was aware of his eyes but she willed herself not to react to his amusement. ‘You’re a good cook,’ she admitted with a sigh as she pushed her empty plate to one side.
‘I had a good teacher.’
‘Thank you,’ she accepted the compliment. ‘Actually I think I’d have done my own sex a greater service if I’d refused to give you lessons,’ she observed tartly. ‘Pulling females isn’t the purest motive for learning the culinary art.’