by Andrews, Amy
Maggie sucked in a breath. His pupils had dilated and she felt the familiar tug in her womb. ‘Please, Nash?’ Not that she needed his permission but she wouldn’t put it past him to try and influence the medical decision to discharge her.
Nash wavered. ‘Maybe for a short time?’ Maggie nodded eagerly. ‘And no dancing.’
She nodded again. ‘I’ll even stick to orange juice.’
‘Damn straight you will,’ he muttered. ‘And I’m staying with you tonight.’
Maggie gave him an oh-will-you-now look. ‘Do you think my concussion is up to that?’
‘In a purely professional capacity, of course.’
Maggie smiled. Not if she could help it. If she could manage the ball, she could certainly manage what would inevitably come next if they were under the same roof.
‘Of course.’
Maggie smoothed the bodice of the dress flat against her stomach for the hundredth time as she waited for Nash to arrive. She inspected her image from all angles in her dressing-table mirror. It was the sort of outfit that clung and had she been even another month along, she couldn’t have worn it.
She checked her watch, pleased that she’d been able to get herself ready in such a short time. She hadn’t been discharged till close to four and managing to convince Nash she’d be okay to get ready without him hovering like a mother hen had taken another hour.
He’d finally left at five-thirty, to go and get ready himself before heading back to pick her up.
A knock sounded on the door and a ball of nerves in her stomach tangled a little tighter. She gave herself a quick once-over and made her way through the house, switching out lights as she went.
Nash could see her coming towards him through the glass panels in the door and almost sagged against it in relief. He’d been nervous about leaving her alone and had torn home, showered quickly, thrown his clothes on and roared back. His heart had pounded as he’d strode up the path and before knocking he’d spent a second calculating how easy it would be to kick the door in if Maggie didn’t answer within the minute.
All his macho protective instincts, however, died a quick death when she opened the door. He went from picturing her lying unconscious somewhere in the house to picturing himself tearing her dress off and throwing her on the bed.
‘Bow chicka wow wow,’ he whispered.
She looked amazing. Her satiny, off-white floor-length gown looked very Rita Hayworth. Its halter neck dipped to reveal a hint of unfettered cleavage. It was fitted in a wide band around her waist and then fell to the floor, hugging the lines of her body and flaring in a slight fishtail at the hem.
The material shimmered with a pearl-like lustre and moved with her body. He wanted to reach out and touch it so badly he knew he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else all evening. How the silk would feel gliding against his hand, how her erect nipples would feel beneath the material, the warmth of the fabric beneath his touch, the give of her curves.
She wore a chunky three-strand choker of black pearls at her neck and he curled his hands into fists to stop himself from stroking them.
Maggie’s heart gave a wild gallop at his appreciative gaze. ‘Bow chicka wow, yourself,’ she murmured.
He looked like a model. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything remotely formal and the effect was mesmerising. His black tux was stunning and she couldn’t decide which Nash was more handsome — the Levi’s Nash or the tuxedo Nash. Her brain flashed another image on her inward eye and she gave herself a mental slap.
Naked Nash, of course.
Nash’s gaze roved over her face, memorising every detail. She’d done her eyes up tonight with dark kohl and heavy mascara and they looked sultry and seductive. Luring him, tempting him to pick her up and spend all night here.
In bed.
Then he noticed the artful application of make-up on her temple and he pulled his mind out of his pants.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, lifting his hand to stroke her fringe back, inspecting the site closely.
Maggie pulled away from his touch. She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ he pressed.
Maggie knew if they didn’t leave right now she was going to burst into tears. She couldn’t take his concern. Not when it was motivated out of friendship and some sense of honour or guilt. He looked dashing and sexy tonight and she wanted nothing more than to drag him inside by his lapels and forget the damn ball.
But she was in an emotionally precarious state. The last thing she wanted to do was blurt out how she felt about him —all that would do was complicate things even further.
‘Yes, Nash.’ She moved forward, forcing him to step back, shutting the door behind her then brushing past him as she headed for his car.
Nash turned and watched her progress. The dress was totally backless and he almost groaned aloud.
How was he supposed to keep his hands off that?
The music coming from the band on the stage pulsed around the darkened ballroom and Maggie watched with envy as a crowd of party-goers, including Nash, let their hair down on the dance floor.
The tables were decorated with floating red candles, silver tinsel, red linen serviettes and lush green holly. The flames flickered and twinkled in the array of wineglasses cluttering the table and shimmered in the tinsel.
There was plenty to keep her mind off the dance floor, however. She’d reached minor celebrity status, being inundated in the early part of the evening by colleagues coming up to ask how she was and chat about the incident of the previous night. It had obviously rocketed around the grapevine and while she appreciated people’s concern, between them and Nash she was about ready to scream.
Her gaze flicked back to the dancers. Nash was up there with Zoe from A and E. If it was at all possible, he looked even sexier than he had when he’d been standing on her doorstep, which only increased her bad mood.
He’d wasted no time in modifying the tux, undoing the jacket buttons so the lapels gaped as he boogied exposing an expanse of chest clad in a classic white shirt. He’d untied the bow-tie so it hung casually down from the confines of the collar. The top two buttons of his shirt had been relieved of their duty.
With his hair all mussed from dancing, he looked like a movie star at an Oscars after-party. And he’d been wildly popular despite his initial reluctance to leave her side. But she’d bitten down hard on her jealousy and urged him to go and dance.
Anything to get some relief from his polite attentiveness and his damn aftershave. She’d thought it would help.
But it hadn’t. She was miserable.
It was some weird kind of self-inflicted torture, forcing herself to watch him with a string of other women. To face the reality of her life. Oh, sure, she knew there was nothing sexual about it, that Nash was just being a gentleman. But the truth was that he was going to London and there were going to be other women.
She might as well get used to it.
The song came to an end and Nash returned to the table and threw himself into the seat beside her. He’d much rather be dancing with Maggie but the lure of her bare back and fudge-brownie eyes were lethal and at least on the dance floor he was removed from the temptation.
‘Man, it’s hot out there,’ he said, taking a swig of his frosty beer. ‘How are you? Okay? Is your head aching?’
Maggie sighed. ‘I’m fine, Nash.’
‘Are you tired? We can leave any time.’
Maggie glared at him now, tired of being treated like a fragile piece of blown glass. ‘I swear to God, Nash, if you ask me one more time, I’m going to pour that beer over your head.’
Nash chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, okay.’
A woman Maggie recognised from X-ray tapped Nash on the shoulder and he smiled at her. Maggie wanted to scratch her eyes out.
Nash stood to go with her but took a moment to bend down so his mouth was close to Maggie’s ear. ‘We’re leaving soon whether you
like it or not.’
Maggie tracked his progress through the people milling around the edge of the dance floor, guiding his partner through the crush like a true gentleman, enjoying the back view as much as the front. How had she ever let herself fall in love with him?
Her chest felt tight and her head gave a throb.
‘So. You and Nash, huh?’
Maggie turned to Linda, who’d finally returned from the dance floor after what seemed like hours.
‘Yes. Me and Nash.’ She hoped she didn’t sound as depressed as she felt.
‘You kept that quiet.’
Maggie shrugged. ‘It wasn’t anything, really. Just a fling.’
‘Friends with privileges?’
Maggie nodded, looking down at the starched white tablecloth. ‘Something like that.’
‘Except...’
‘Yes. Except.’ Their fling had yielded some pretty serious consequences.
‘Is he still going to London?’
‘Yep.’
‘Do you love him?’
Maggie looked up at her friend. ‘Yep.’ What was the point in hiding it?
‘Oh, Maggie.’
Linda gave her shoulder a squeeze and Maggie shrugged it off. She could hear the pity in her friend’s voice. Even Linda knew the folly of falling for Nash. ‘It’s okay.’
‘C’mon,’ Phil said, tugging on his wife’s hand. ‘There’s still another hour to go before the band finishes.’
‘Are you going to be okay?’ Linda asked, resisting the pull.
‘Of course. Go. Don’t be silly.’ Maggie plastered a smile on her face. ‘Go!’ she insisted again when Linda seemed hesitant.
Ten minutes later, Maggie was yawning as a sudden wave of exhaustion crept over her. She hated to admit that Nash was right but maybe the best place for her was home in bed. The band struck up a familiar tune and Maggie felt an awareness surround her like an aura.
Two hands slid down her bare shoulders from behind and a raging inferno spread through her veins like quicksilver. Nash leaned down, his lips close to her ear. ‘They’re playing our song, Maggie May. Dance with me then I’ll take you home.’
‘Thought no dancing was part of the deal.’
‘I’m making an exception.’
Maggie was too everything to resist. Too tired. Too needy. Too in love. She just turned and he pulled her chair out and helped her to her feet.
The band started to sing the Rod Stewart classic as he twirled her onto the dance floor. He held her close but not too close, aware of the speculation on the faces of their fellow dancers. Their secret was well and truly out and he’d fielded quite a few questions over the course of the evening, but it was important to him as he held her that everyone realised Maggie was more than just a conquest to him.
He slid his hand to the centre of her bare back, resisting the urge to slide it down to her cute derrière and pull her hips closer. She swayed against him to the music, his body tightening everywhere, the movement and the bare skin of her back erotic beyond words.
There was a strange constriction in his chest as her perfume - her essence - washed over him. Something shifted inside him, trampled by a surge of feelings that couldn’t be contained.
‘Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?’ he murmured, looking down into her face as the blinking, colourful lights from the stage played across her cheekbones.
Her eyelashes, thick and luscious with mascara, drew him in deeper, closer. There was a swelling in his chest that was growing by the second.
Maggie could barely breathe at the intensity of his gaze. It was making her dizzy. ‘You scrub up pretty good for a country bumpkin yourself.’
He grinned at her. ‘I feel like an undertaker.’
She shook her head. ‘You look like a movie star.’
Nash tightened his hand against her back as his chest filled to bursting with an emotion that was scaring the life out of him. ‘So do you.’ And then he dipped her quickly because he didn’t know what was happening.
Maggie gave a startled cry and grabbed hold of his shoulders. When he hoisted her back to her feet it hit him like the proverbial tonne of bricks.
He loved her. He was in love with Maggie Green. The mother of his child.
Nash dropped all pretence of distance and pulled her closer as he processed the realisation that had come out of left field. She didn’t protest, just laid her cheek against his chest, and his stomach fluttered like a bloody teenager.
How had he been so blind?
Especially now he could pinpoint the exact moment he’d fallen for her. At the cafeteria that day, the first day he’d met her. She’d knocked him back and from that moment he’d been hooked. But it hadn’t been until yesterday, seeing her lying in that pool of blood, facing those few awful seconds when he’d thought she was dead, that he’d been shaken out of his comfortable existence enough to start examining things.
He’d stupidly mistaken love for his ingrained sense of duty and honour. Telling himself instead that she was his responsibility. She and the baby were his duty. But holding her close like this now, feeling her body move against his, knowing their baby was nestled between them, he knew he’d made a grave error.
He knew he loved her more than he’d ever loved anything in his life.
But, did she feel the same way? She’d never indicated she had deeper feelings for him and had seemed more than fine with him going overseas and being a remote father for the first couple of years. She hadn’t clung to him like more than one woman from his past had done, she hadn’t asked him to stay or had a tantrum that he was leaving.
Maybe she’d got the one thing from him that she’d always wanted — a baby — and he was totally superfluous to her now. A third wheel. Excess baggage.
Collateral damage.
Even thinking about it made him feel panicked and desperate. She had to love him back.
She just had to.
He didn’t want to be an outsider in his family. Live across the other side of the world while the woman he loved built a relationship with his child without him. While they became a family without him.
He wanted to be a part of it all.
He knew then and there that he couldn’t go to London. Didn’t want to go. And, surprisingly, it didn’t even matter.
Only Maggie mattered. Maggie and his baby.
Maggie almost sighed as the warm cotton of his shirt caressed her cheek and one beautifully rounded pectoral formed a perfect pillow. She was weary and it was stuffy on the dance floor, crammed full of hot, sweaty bodies.
Nash’s heartbeat thudded in her ear and she shut her eyes, letting its rhythm and the drift of starch and his aftershave lull her into a world where just the two of them existed. She felt light-headed as the crush around them loomed close and she leant into him a little more.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ Nash said as the song drew to an end. He wanted to get her home so they could talk.
Maggie pulled her head off his chest and felt the room shift. She swayed a little.
‘Whoa. Maggie?’ Nash grabbed her. ‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded, his pulse rate skyrocketing as images of her still, bloodied body returned to taunt him.
Was something going on in her head? Damn it, he should have insisted she have the X-ray.
‘Nothing,’ Maggie said faintly, pushing against the imprisoning wall of his chest. ‘It’s just so hot in here.’
Nash didn’t like the look of her sudden pallor and swept her up into his arms.
‘Nash!’ she protested, clinging to his neck weakly, watching the jaws of bystanders drop as he strode out of the ballroom.
‘We’re leaving. Don’t argue.’
Maggie daren’t talk in the car on the way back to her place. Nash’s face, usually so laid-back and relaxed, was as dark as thunder. She knew he was blaming himself for their early departure and really didn’t want to hear an I-told-you-so from him.
He turned the engine off outside her place and she o
pened her mouth to speak, to tell him it had just been a bit of light-headedness.
‘Don’t,’ he growled as he let the seat belt snap quickly back into its receptacle, the buckle clinking loudly against the glass of the window.
Maggie sat while he strode around to her side, opened the door, helped her out and kept a firm grip on her as they walked up the path. ‘I’m—’
‘Don’t,’ he repeated.
Maggie waited while he opened her door and followed him into the lounge room. She’d left the Christmas tree lights on but even they failed to elevate his mood.
‘Sit.’ Nash pointed to the lounge chair.
Maggie was tempted to say yes master but thought it wise not to push. He paced for a bit and she watched without comment. He stopped and looked down at her then resumed his pacing, shrugging out of his jacket and flinging it on the coffee table.
She found herself hoping he wouldn’t stop there. There was something about brooding, intense Nash that was darkly sexy.
‘I’m not going to London.’
Maggie blinked, dragging her mind out of the gutter. So not what she’d expected him to say. She’d expected a lecture about the stupidity of going out after a concussion. That he’d warned her it was folly. Of thinking about her health and the baby.
All things loaded with duty and responsibility.
‘Wh-what?’
‘You heard me.’
He glowered forebodingly but Maggie stood anyway. ‘What are you talking about?’
Nash pointed to the chair. ‘Sit.’
Maggie raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Nash, for goodness sake — I was a bit dizzy. That’s all. Please refrain from talking to me like I’m a dog.’
Nash shut his eyes briefly and pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry. I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s just that...’
He stopped, shoving a hand through his hair. How could she know what that dreadful, gut wrenching moment had been like when he’d rounded that corner?
‘I thought you were dead last night. I thought he’d killed you. For a moment. The blood was...And you looked so pale just now. Like last night.’ He faltered. ‘I just felt ill.’
Maggie frowned. He was talking like someone who really cared. Well, she supposed he did. She was his lover, the mother of his child. But his concern seemed to transcend the boundaries of duty.
