Australia: Bundles of Joy: Impossibly Pregnant / Top-Notch Surgeon, Pregnant Nurse / Caring For His Babies

CHAPTER SIX

‘Is a sensitive, considerate man: a) a myth, b) an oxymoron, c) a moron?’

Lucy, looking for Mr Right in all the wrong places.

LACHLAN flipped the steaks on the barbecue and watched Keely rustle up a salad through the kitchen window. Even with a slight frown marring her brow as she concentrated on getting the right mix of olive oil, lemon and balsamic vinegar, she looked beautiful.

He’d had a hard time concentrating on riding the waves earlier that afternoon, his mind wandering to the woman sitting on the pristine sand, watching him. He’d almost been wiped out several times but had rallied at the last moment, only to be wiped out in earnest when he’d finished surfing and seen the look in her eyes as he jogged up the beach towards her.

She’d looked at him like a woman starved, with her eye on the entrée, main course and dessert all rolled into one. He’d been flattered. Hell, he’d been ready to rip off his wetsuit and take her right then and there in the sand, discomfort be damned.

However, Keely had secrets, and not just the one about her being his late-night heckler. He’d glimpsed vulnerability, uncertainty, and what he could almost label fear in her eyes whenever he mentioned his interest in her.

Not that he’d pushed too hard yet. He wasn’t a complete fool. Sure, he wanted to get to know her better, but he had a feeling that if he rushed her she would bolt quicker than his mum had at the first offer from one of her numerous lovers.

‘By the look on your face, this barbecuing business is serious stuff.’

Quashing the sharp stab of pain that memories of his traitorous mother never failed to raise, he brandished the stainless steel tongs at her. ‘It is. Wouldn’t want you to complain about the rump being too rare.’

To his delight, she sent a pointed look at his butt and raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing wrong with a bit of rare rump. It’s pretty hard to find these days.’

He laughed and wiggled the piece of anatomy she was eyeing. ‘Don’t go getting any ideas to sink your teeth into this just yet.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes, picking up the tongs and aiming a pinch his way. ‘I’m very selective with my rump. It takes a lot of handling and careful weighing before I select the best piece.’

He sidestepped the tongs and made a grab for them in one swift movement. ‘Glad to hear it. Now, if you don’t mind, this rump is ready.’ He gestured to the grill before filling a platter with two steaks, several prawn skewers and corn on the cob.

‘I’m starving.’ She reached for the plate, her hand brushing his, and for a split second when he raised his eyes to meet hers he read desire.

Or maybe it was a reflection of his rampant need mirrored there?

Rather than give in to the impulse to ditch the plate and haul her into his arms, he used every inch of willpower to step away and keep his response light.

‘Good. I’m famous for my culinary skills.’

She followed him into the kitchen and the intensity of the previous moment dwindled away till he wondered if it had been a figment of his imagination.

‘Is there anything you’re not good at?’ She placed the salad and herb bread on the table next to the mixed grill while he poured the merlot. ‘Because, from where I’m sitting, you’re almost too good to be true.’

He paused, surprised by her swift change in mood from playful to serious. In the past, he’d been labelled with the tag most guys hated, the dreaded ‘nice’, though the women he’d dated hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, he’d been complimented on his manners and the way he’d treated them in general. It hadn’t been his fault those relationships had failed. Supposedly, nice guys always finished last, and the women he’d been involved with had seemed to reiterate the fact.

He smiled and raised his wine glass to her. ‘Give me a few hours. I’m sure I’ll think of something.’

She clinked glasses with him, her eyes glittering in the muted light. ‘My friends have labelled you Mr Perfect.’

‘You’ve been talking about me with your friends?’

This was good. Very good. That meant she was more interested than she let on, though he wondered about the ‘perfect’ tag. No way could he live up to those expectations.

Despite their instant, intense attraction, she hardly knew him, so what had he done to deserve the accolade?

‘I might’ve vaguely mentioned something to them, you being a new client and all.’ She speared a prawn and waved her fork around as if her comment meant nothing. ‘Though I wouldn’t read too much into it.’

‘And here I was thinking you might be falling for my charm.’

She chewed and swallowed before answering, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. ‘Sorry to disappoint. Maybe you need to brush up on your technique?’

He liked the switch back to playful and he fully intended to keep the mood light for the rest of the night.

‘Oh, I fully intend to.’ He reached across and ran a fingertip across her bottom lip, watching her eyes widen, the dark pools tempting enough for any man to lose himself in their depths. ‘How do you think I’m doing so far?’

He could’ve sworn her lip trembled beneath his light touch before she leaned back slightly and broke the contact. ‘Needs some work but you’ve got potential.’

‘Thanks. That’s all the encouragement I need.’

He stared at her over his wine glass, trying to gauge her reaction to his comment. He’d made his intentions more than clear over the course of the day, and if she opted out now he’d be disappointed.

She reached over and lightly tapped his glass. ‘Good luck, Doc. With me, you’re going to need it.’

‘Sounds like a challenge.’

She laughed, a light-hearted sound that warmed his heart. It had been too long since he’d unwound in the company of a beautiful woman, especially one who sparked his interest on many levels. ‘Why do all men get that gleam in their eye at the thought of a challenge?’

‘Because it brings out our competitive side.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Men!’

Enjoying their teasing, he decided to push his luck. ‘Speaking of my Y chromosome, when am I going to see you in a bikini? After all, we’re at one of the best beaches in the world, and members of the weaker sex such as me look forward to seeing the latest in surf fashion.’

And, just like that, the shutters descended over her eyes, cloaking them in a haze of emotion he could only label as disappointment.

‘Dream on.’ Though the corners of her mouth tilted up in a tight smile, the action was far from a happy gesture.

Okay, so she wasn’t big on bikinis. Maybe he’d try a different tack to lighten the moment. ‘Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying. With a body like yours, seems a shame not to show it off.’

If the shutters had descended seconds earlier, this time the blinds well and truly snapped shut. She shrugged and toyed with the napkin at the side of her plate. ‘Sorry to disillusion you, but remember those old neck-to-knee swimsuits? They’re skimpy compared to mine.’

She managed a short laugh but it didn’t fool him. He’d made her uncomfortable and, once again, she had him confused. This Jekyll and Hyde thing she had going on was frustrating the hell out of him and putting a real dampener on his eagerness to get to know her better.

Keen to defuse the tension that suddenly enveloped them, he raised his wine glass to her. ‘I’ve always stuck by the more is less theory, so I look forward to seeing it. Now, let’s eat.’

However, as he passed her the salad he had the distinct impression that eating was the last activity she wanted to do and, for the second time in as many minutes, wondered what deep, dark secrets Keely Rhodes harboured.

Keely trailed her fingers over the book spines, reading the titles but not really absorbing them. If she’d been nervous earlier, it was nothing compared to now. Dinner had been a breeze, with Lachlan switching to small talk after their initial hiccup over his bikini joke and she’d soon relaxed.

However, she’d known it wouldn’t last, and as the evening drew to a close the butterflies in her stomach took flight. Though he’d deposited her overnight bag in the spare room when they’d arrived at his beach house, she knew that didn’t necessarily mean she would be sleeping in there.

She hadn’t been this attracted to a man before, and though she continued focusing on work—apart from her earlier lapse into flirt mode while he barbecued—her mind kept drifting to fantasies of getting intimate in the bedroom.

He hadn’t helped matters much, stripping out of that wetsuit back at the beach and asking her to hold his towel up as a shield from prying eyes as he changed. The only problem with that was her eyes had been the ones doing most of the prying! Though she’d done her best to avert her gaze, she was only human and couldn’t help but take a peek.

And, boy, had it been worth it!

An expanse of tanned skin covered rippling muscles that belonged on an elite athlete rather than a psychologist who surfed part-time. And that butt …

She was sure the towel had slipped a notch as her hands shook while she checked out the doc’s hidden talents.

‘See anything that interests you?’

She jumped as he entered the lounge room, knocking half a dozen hardback novels off the shelf in the process.

Rather than rushing to her aid, as she’d expected him to do, he chuckled and sat down. ‘I’d offer to help, but one concussion a week is more than enough for me.’

‘Very funny.’ She bent to pick up the books, wondering if she’d ever be cured of her clumsiness. The way he intruded on her thoughts constantly, she doubted it. ‘Thanks for dinner, by the way. It was delicious.’

‘No problem. Wait till you see what I’ve got for dessert.’

She almost upended the books a second time. So much for putting a dampener on her imagination. With his words, she conjured up an instant vivid image of strawberries, whipped cream and the two of them sharing dessert … in very inventive ways!

‘I haven’t really got a sweet tooth,’ she said, aiming for nonchalant when she knew she could easily forgo the edible dessert in favour of something much more enticing—like him on a platter.

‘Couldn’t be weight-related.’

And, just like that, the cosy atmosphere shattered.

Thankful he couldn’t see her face as she rearranged the shelf, she swallowed the lump of emotion that lodged in her throat, mentally kicking herself for believing a guy like Lachlan could be different.

Every man she’d ever known had been obsessed about looks and weight, often making jokes about ‘fat chicks’ who didn’t care about their appearance, or chuckling over advertisements for weight loss centres. She’d learned to steel herself against their cruel judgements, despite the urge to smack them silly.

As for taking a swipe at her own eating habits, only one guy she’d casually dated had ever made that mistake—and she’d let him have it, after accidentally spilling her wine over his crotch.

Lachlan had made several remarks about her body since they’d met and, though he probably saw them as innocuous, she knew what they really were—a sign that he was just like the rest of the guys she’d ever known, hung-up over looks and little else. Not to mention a clear indication she shouldn’t get involved, no matter how much her body kept telling her otherwise.

He didn’t pick up on her stiffening or, if he did, he didn’t let on. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, you look great. Trust me, you’ll love this.’

His qualifier didn’t help. What if she didn’t look great? Would he even give her the time of day? She doubted it. No male had, not till she’d shed half her bodyweight and almost died in the process.

As for trust, she’d believed in it too many times to count and had been let down every time. People, especially men, were notorious for saying the T word and then doing their best to give you reasons to mistrust them.

Lighten up. Before he takes his business and your chance at promotion elsewhere.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face him. ‘What is it?’

‘Close your eyes and let me guide you to it.’

‘This better be good,’ she said, allowing him to guide her through the room and out the door. When in actual fact she felt like bolting through it and not looking back.

‘Oh, it’s better than good.’

His hands were lightly resting on her hips as he gently propelled her forwards, and her skin fairly sizzled where he touched her. Damn her hormones! One minute she thought he was an insensitive clod, the next she wanted to jump him. She needed to get a grip on her wayward emotions—and fast—before she got a grip on him.

‘Just a few more steps … Okay, open your eyes.’

‘How did you know?’ She looked at the plate piled high with doughnuts of every description, from cinnamon-dusted to choc-iced, her mouth watering at the sight.

Okay, so he’d actually meant dessert when he’d said it. Then why did she feel like a child who had just been told that Santa Claus didn’t exist?

He grinned and offered her the plate. ‘I saw the way you were eyeing off my doughnut the other day. If I hadn’t eaten half of it already, I reckon you would’ve snatched it out of my hand and gobbled it in one go.’

‘Very observant.’

If he only knew. She hadn’t just been staring at the doughnut when he’d walked into her office, but at the way his lips had been dusted in sugar and cinnamon, shaken by how much she wanted to lick it off.

‘I’ve heard the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.’ He demolished two doughnuts to her one and she chuckled at his genuine enjoyment. ‘So, sweet tooth or not, dig in.’

Choosing to ignore his earlier jibe about weight for the sake of her job, she selected a choc-iced, silently vowing it would be her one and only. Though she could’ve quite happily eaten the whole plate, her weekly allocation would be blown. She’d have to attend a Pilates class every day of the week to keep in shape.

Though she’d come a long way from her overweight days, the scare she’d received after collapsing, and the resultant devastating news that she wouldn’t bear children, acted as a constant reminder to nurture her body rather than abuse it.

These days she enjoyed every morsel of food that passed her lips, exercised regularly and accepted her body shape—three things she wished she’d done as a vulnerable teen.

‘If you’re trying to butter me up for something, you’re going about it the right way.’

Wiping his hands on a dishcloth, he said, ‘Why do you always suspect an ulterior motive?’

‘Because men usually have one.’ She pronounced it like the fact she knew it to be, at least in her experience.

‘I’m not like all men.’

Well, he’d got that right. ‘Appearances can be deceiving.’

If anyone should know, she should.

‘What you see is what you get with me.’

Her gaze flickered over him, taking in his relaxed posture, one leg crooked over the other, his hands braced at his back. He was propped against the sink, looking sinfully handsome in denim which hugged his hips and a black polo shirt that moulded his torso as if it had been made for him.

If what she saw was what she’d get, she’d be a lucky girl indeed.

‘And what’s that?’

Though she wasn’t in the mood for word games, she had a feeling that the developing tension between them needed to be addressed before she did something crazy, like fling herself at him.

Or, worse yet, sleepwalk right into his bed.

‘Apparently, I’m Mr Perfect.’ He smiled, though she noticed the way he shifted, as if uncomfortable with the tag. ‘Or so you tell me.’

She sighed, wishing she’d never told him that.

‘I might’ve mentioned something along those lines in a moment of weakness, but don’t hold me to it.’

He shrugged, drawing her attention to the breadth of his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Living up to a title like that would be hell.’

No, hell would be taking a chance on a guy like you.

Trying to ignore her racing pulse, she crossed the kitchen and stood in front of him, torn between wanting to melt into his arms or walking straight past him—and temptation—and out the back door.

‘As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, I’m beat. I think I’ll go to bed.’

She didn’t move a muscle as he leaned towards her, her heart hammering against her ribs. Though she hadn’t meant it as an invitation, she realised her declaration had sounded like one, and her body quivered with anticipation, every fibre alert to a possible incoming sensual assault.

‘Pleasant dreams,’ he murmured, brushing a soft, lingering kiss across her lips, a kiss that left her breathless and yearning.

However, before she could blink, he ran a hand lightly over her hair, cupped her cheek for an instant and walked away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘Most men I know are like mascara. They run at the first sign of emotion.’

Tahlia Moran, best friend and cynic.

‘HOW was the weekend?’

Keely plopped on the couch next to Tahlia and hugged a cushion to her chest. ‘Good.’

Tahlia quirked an eyebrow. ‘And I thought Librans were supposed to be well-balanced, eloquent individuals.’

‘What can I say? He lived up to his perfect reputation.’ Worse luck.

‘In and out of the bedroom?’ Tahlia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming at the promise of gossip.

‘I can only vouch for outside of it.’

Her friend’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘You mean he didn’t make a move?’

Keely shook her head, mentally kicking herself for being disappointed.

‘Let me get this straight. This guy goes to all the trouble to get you out to his love-nest by the ocean, practically strips naked in front of you, cooks you dinner and then nothing?’

Keely reached for her wine and took a sip before answering. ‘Nice twist, but in actual fact it was his beach house, he had to change after surfing, we shared cooking duties and—’

‘Nothing, right?’

Keely sighed and nodded. ‘Yeah, nothing.’

‘I don’t get it.’ Tahlia flicked her strawberry-streaked fringe out of her eyes and popped several chocolate-coated peanuts into her mouth before continuing. ‘The guy oozes sex appeal, he definitely has the hots for you, you’re keen on him and you’re two consenting adults. You do the math!’

‘By my calculations, I scored a big fat zero.’

Keely had relived that sequence in the kitchen after dinner a thousand times in her mind. She’d been torn at the time between wanting to shrug off her reservations and get physical with Lachlan and holding him at arm’s length. He’d annoyed the heck out of her with his cracks about bikinis and watching her weight, yet when he’d followed up with a compliment she’d been putty in his hands again.

When she’d crossed the kitchen and told him she was going to bed it had almost been a challenge, and his reaction hadn’t been what she’d expected.

A chaste goodnight kiss, albeit on the lips, hadn’t satisfied her. Not by a long shot. And what had she done about it?

Nothing.

She’d muttered something about being exhausted and rushed out of the room before she—or he—could change their minds.

His behaviour puzzled her. Despite the vibes she kept getting from him, he hadn’t laid a finger on her. The guys she’d dated in the past would’ve taken advantage of the situation in a second. However, Lachlan Brant was living up to his reputation as Mr Perfect more and more every day, a fact that wasn’t good for her peace of mind.

‘Are you sure he’s not gay?’

Keely glared at Tahlia. ‘What do you think?’

An impish grin spread across her friend’s face. ‘Nah.’ She dipped into the bowl again, managing to throw several nuts in the air, tilt her head back and catch them in her mouth. ‘So, where to from here?’

Keely laughed. ‘Nice to see our Director of Sales hasn’t lost her touch. Where do you learn those tricks anyway? Another one of your courses?’

As if her friend wasn’t busy enough, she also frequented business courses in her spare time, always pushing herself in all facets of her life, as if making up for a lack of something.

Tahlia sniffed and repeated the performance, this time managing to capture two peanuts in her mouth at once. ‘They don’t teach you this in Business Etiquette 101.’

‘Does the college run courses in How To Read Men 101? And, if so, where do I sign up?’

Tahlia munched on the peanuts for a moment, her brow furrowed. ‘Maybe he thinks you’re not all that keen. After all, you’ve been sending him mixed messages.’

‘Flirting is one thing, sleeping with him another. Besides, I thought he had a right to know up front so there’d be no misunderstandings later.’

‘But I thought you wanted more?’

‘Yes … no … I don’t know! Stop confusing me!’

Tahlia chuckled. ‘I think you’re doing enough of that for the both of us. Why don’t you just go for it? Don’t forget, that’s what your horoscope said.’

‘They’re called that for a reason. In my case, it’s a horror-scope.’

‘Don’t mess with the stars.’

‘Don’t mess with my head.’

‘Hey, that’s the Doc’s job, not mine.’

Keely stood and crossed the room, staring out at the stunning bay view. She loved watching the world go by from her sixth-floor apartment, particularly at dusk when the water took on a mauve hue.

Tahlia was right. She should stop procrastinating and go for it with Lachlan. What did she have to lose? It wasn’t as if she was expecting happily-ever-after or anything remotely like it. They could date, have fun, and make the most of every day as people her age should be doing.

Why did she need to constantly overanalyse every situation?

Because you’re in deeper than you think.

Telling her voice of reason to shut up, she turned back to Tahlia.

‘Thanks for the advice, Dear Abby. Now, how about we get down to the business of planning Em’s surprise party?’

Tahlia scrutinised her for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. ‘Nice change of topic. I’ll buy it.’ She picked up her pocket organiser and started flipping pages. ‘I’ve booked Sammy’s, organised the fìnger food with Andy, and drinks will be buy-your-own over the bar. How is the guest list coming along?’