A huge, work-roughened hand reached out to gently touch the cheek of the sleeping baby she held, and the baby Bevan stirred slightly at the rumble of the older one’s voice.
“Suits you,” he said to Judith. “Is that one yours or mine?”
“He,” Judith said through gritted teeth, “is Vanessa’s.”
As well grit her teeth at the wind. Bevan didn’t even blink, although he allowed himself the flicker of a wry grin.
“Ah,” he said. “So that’s the way of it.” And marched calmly past her into the house, and towards the kitchen, his boot heels clicking on the tiled floor.
“What’ve you done to upset Judith, Nessie?” he called out. “She’s gone all cranky, and it can’t be just from carrying that ugly rug rat around.”
“That rug rat is far more attractive than the man he’s named after,” came a reply from the kitchen, and Judith could only marvel at how Vanessa could remain so calm while trying to readjust her clothing and get the baby settled at the same time. Judith followed Bevan into the kitchen, his namesake slumbering now on her shoulder, and stopped dead at the sight of her cousin still calmly feeding the other twin and smiling up at Bevan.
“Now this Judith, you’ll notice, is happy as a clam,” Vanessa said, twisting so Bevan could see the part of the baby’s face that wasn’t clamped to Vanessa’s breast “As for your Judith ... well, maybe a change of formula would help.”
Vanessa turned her attention to Judith, who wasn’t sure if she was blushing because of Vanessa’s remark or the situation in general.
“Goodness, Judith Theresa,” Vanessa said with a grin. “Stop looking so shocked and horrified or you’ll go all strange and drop my child. This man is a grazier, dear cousin. Do you think he’s never seen an infant suckle before? Besides, Bevan is an old and very dear friend.”
Judith couldn’t find real words to reply. All she could do was stand there, stunned into silence, and try – as Vanessa had demanded – not to drop the baby. She knew the two adults were both laughing at her, knew she was supposed to fall in with the joke and laugh with them, but being in the same room as Bevan and all this intimacy had completely unnerved her. Even a lovestruck fool could see that Bevan’s attention was on the baby, not the breast, and even a lovestruck fool couldn’t fail to notice how gentle he was when he turned and plucked his namesake from Judith’s shoulder, holding the baby aloft so he could compare the faces.
“Well, I guess they’re twins,” he said, handing back the baby to Judith but speaking to Vanessa. “But this one’s better looking, more masculine, somehow. Although the filly’s got Judith Theresa’s hair. I just hope she has your temperament.”
Which got him the laugh he was after, although Judith had to force it through clenched teeth.
“So, Bevan, what brings you all the way to Hobart at this hour of morning?” Vanessa asked, and Judith thought she could finally breathe again, dared to hope they were finished toying with her.
“I have business,” Bevan said. “Some of it with your good husband, and some with my solicitor, just to be sure he isn’t planning to abscond with my investments and run off to Cuba or someplace with his secretary. And I had thought I might take your ravishing cousin here to lunch, assuming she’s agreeable.”
“My ravishing cousin, in case you hadn’t noticed, isn’t speaking to you,” Vanessa replied with studied innocence. “I am not game to ask why.”
“Just as well, too,” said Bevan. “Because it would probably force her into lies, damned lies, and obfuscations, and it’s too early in the morning for that. Okay, I’ll take you both to lunch. That way you and I can converse like adults and Judith Theresa can play mother hen to the rug rats and talk baby talk.”
And that was that. Without Judith actually being consulted, it was somehow agreed that Bevan would return to take the lot of them to lunch. He was out the door and had the engine of his vehicle turned on before Judith could even think of anything she could have, would have, should have said!
Even worse, Bevan was a man of his word. Once they’d managed to get mother and babes installed properly at the family-run seafood restaurant where both he and Vanessa were obviously well known and highly valued as customers, Judith was indeed relegated to the role of babysitter while her cousin and Bevan discussed all manner of things she could hardly understand. And on the rare occasion the conversation did touch upon her, it was in the form of questions – very pointed questions – to Vanessa, inquiring about the history of twins in their family, and the predilection for red hair and questionable temperament. With Vanessa’s seemingly innocent but blatant collusion, he played Judith like a piano all through the luncheon.
If she’d been cranky with him before, she was three times more so by the time they returned home and got the babies settled down in their cribs. By which time it was too late. Bevan didn’t stay long enough to confront, and Vanessa pleaded a sudden headache and a need to go and lie down. Judith was left to stew in the juices of her own frustration, secure – for whatever that was worth – that she’d just been led down the proverbial garden path, yet again, by a man who seemed to take abnormal delight in rattling her chain!
She spent the evening trying to watch television, but her mind did the seeing, and it kept showing her images of Bevan Keene with Vanessa’s babies, images of a man who clearly loved children, was comfortable with them, wasn’t afraid to let the world know that. She was reminded of the old tale about the famous bullfighter surprised in his kitchen while doing dishes and wearing a frilly, quite distinctly feminine apron. When chastised for risking his macho image, the bullfighter was reputed to have replied, quite calmly, “Anything I do is macho.”
And Bevan, too, was totally, undeniably macho, so secure in his masculinity that he did exactly as he pleased without regard for how it might appear to critics. He’d shown a similar strength of character throughout their days in the camp, a man rock solid in who he was.
Which would be wonderful if he wasn’t so damned elusive about showing his trust, and if he’d quit playing me like a damned fiddle.
The thought brought Judith onto treacherous ground, mingling her intellect with her emotions, but doing nothing to resolve the way she felt. And to have Vanessa come right out and suggest she should sleep with Bevan as a way of sorting herself out! Judith could only shake her head in wonder at the temerity of the suggestion.
There wouldn’t be much sleeping done, just for starters, dear cousin. If any!
Whereupon her imagination took over, and she found her entire body reacting as she recalled her earlier encounters with Bevan, his kiss, his touch, the way their bodies seemed to mesh.
There was no denying that. He had only to look at her that certain way and she needed him, wanted him, and could feel that need sending waves of desire through her entire body. The flimsiness and slithering touch of her housecoat only served to enhance the feelings, and she was aware with every movement of the touch of the material against her breasts, the smooth skin of her thighs.
Then she heard a soft tap-tap, a noise so tiny it nearly escaped her notice. Once – tap-tap. Then, as she listened intently, it came again.
Judith was already on her feet, the television clicked off, her feet pointed toward her appointed guest room, the first time she heard it. She turned, at first uncertain about what she’d heard, then heard it again, this time more distinctly.
A tap-tap on the front door. Not the doorbell, which might have made some sense, even at this late hour with everyone else in the house long abed, but just that tiny, almost audibly invisible sound. Tap-tap.
Barefoot, she tiptoed cautiously to where she could peer through the spy hole in the front door. She wasn’t afraid, not even overly cautious. This was Hobart, Tasmania, not the wilds of New York City. But still ...
And, quiet as she was, she must have made some sound, because what she heard next was her own name, whispered seductively in a voice even quieter than the taps had been.
“Judith? Judit
h Theresa?”
She peered through the spy hole, already wondering why she need bother. She knew who this was, knew it from the first whisper, confirmed by the second as her name was breathed in a caress only one person could create. A glance confirmed it, and she opened the door to confront the late-night visitor.
24
“Damn it, Bevan Keene, what are you doing?” The words were out of her mouth before the door was fully open, and Bevan stepped back, briefly, before pausing to shrug aside the force of her verbal assault.
“I’ve come to beg a bed for the night, Judith Theresa,” he said in a voice much quieter than her own. “Hardly a thing to damn a man for, I wouldn’t have thought.”
“It’s the middle of the night, for God’s sake!”
“Which is a logical time to seek a bed, is it not?” His teeth gleamed in a flickering smile and the light danced in his eyes as his glance roved across her scantily clad body. “Looks like you’re headed in that direction.”
“Yes. And alone,” she said, fighting the softness that flowed through her tummy, wanting to clutch at the nightgown so it wouldn’t reveal the way her nipples responded to the touch of his gaze.
And he noticed.
Of course he noticed; the man reads me like a book and plays me like a fiddle!
“And besides,” she added, “there’s no room for you here. I’m in the one guest room and the other, in case you’ve forgotten, is now a nursery.”
“Of course I know that. I’ve been coming here for years,” he replied glibly. “But there’s a couch, isn’t there? All I want is a place to lay my head for a few hours, then I’ll be up and away and out of your hair. Honest. But I’m too damned tired right now to try and make the drive home. It wouldn’t be safe for me or whoever else is dumb enough to be out on the roads at this time of night.”
And without waiting for her reply, he shouldered past and headed unerringly for the lounge room, leaving Judith to follow in his wake, marginally thankful to be behind him, to have the chance to rearrange her gown and run fingers through her tousled hair. Bevan shed his jacket as he entered the room, then kicked off his boots, loosened his tie, and flopped down on the sofa as if he owned it.
“I just hope you don’t give Vanessa a heart attack if she comes out and sees you there,” Judith said, wanting to turn away, wanting to retreat to her own room, equally wanting to throw herself beside him on the couch.
“She’s found me here before, a time or two,” he replied, reaching back to tuck a spare throw cushion behind his head. “Your cousin was quite the party animal before she went into the maternity business. I don’t suppose you knew that.”
If he had owned the sofa, Judith found herself thinking, he might have thought to trade it in on one which fit him better. The cushion supported his neck but left his head sticking out past it, and at the other end, the arm of the sofa tucked neatly in behind his knees.
“I’m beginning to think you two might know each other better than I thought.” She made no attempt to disguise the curiosity in her voice, but she did hide the surge of satisfaction at his answer.
“Not as well as you obviously think,” he said, and grinned hugely, as if he’d read her mind.
Or was it more a mighty yawn than a grin? Bevan was obviously worn right out, literally asleep on his feet before he’d flopped down on the too-short sofa.
And sleeping like that will cripple you, damn it. I can’t ...
“Get up!” she demanded, the words out of her mouth almost before the thought had solidified in her mind. Then she was reaching down to physically drag him to his feet, sssshing his objections as she steered him out of the room, down the hall and into the guest room – her room, with her bed.
“In,” she ordered. “You can’t sleep on that sofa. You’ll cripple yourself.”
“I’ve slept on it before and I’m still walking,” he said, his voice almost petulant, except for the slight tone of mischief she couldn’t ignore. But since he was calmly divesting himself of his tie, Judith ignored the tone and turned to leave the room.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“To sleep on the sofa, of course. It isn’t too short for me.”
“No way! I will not be accused of having driven you from your bed,” he said, and was there at the door before she’d walked that far, moving remarkably quickly for a man half-asleep.
“Nobody’s accusing you of anything, damn it. It’s just that—”
“What? You’re afraid to sleep in the same bed with me? Bloody oath, woman, I’m too fagged out to be much of a threat, not that I would be anyway. And it’s a double bed, after all. Plenty of room for us both.”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to—”
“If you want me in that bed, you’ll be on the other side. That’s what I think. I can’t be expected to sleep with a bad conscience, and mine would be terrible if I turned you out of a nice warm bed to sleep on a sofa that’s not fit for anybody to sleep on.”
“But you said—”
“That I’d slept on it before? Well, I have, several times. But I didn’t say it was comfortable, Judith Theresa, and those other times I didn’t have the option of sharing this bed with you.”
“And you don’t have it now,” she said, her mouth working but her gaze locked with his, trying to ignore her peripheral vision of his fingers tugging the tie loose and starting to unbutton his shirt.
Only now it was Bevan’s turn to be authoritative. “Just get into bed, Judith,” he said with a huge sigh that was half a yawn. “I promise I won’t touch you, or molest you, or torment you, or even ravish you. All I want is to go to sleep lying down before I do it standing up. Now stop being obstreperous and just get in. I’ll be good. I promise. I won’t even kiss you good night if you don’t want me to.”
Nor did he. Not ten seconds, it seemed, after Judith had gingerly slid under the covers with her back to his side of the far-too-narrow double bed, she felt the springs move as Bevan’s tall, muscular frame flopped down beside her.
“ ’Night, Judith Theresa,” he whispered, and was apparently asleep before she could even reply.
You might at least have tried to kiss me goodnight. Because I did want you to, and still do, and you know it, too, you arrogant, rotten man.
But she said nothing, nor did she move. Instead, she lay curled hard against the edge of the bed, her back to Bevan, her toes and fingers hanging out from beneath the eiderdown spread, and she thought about how uncomfortable it was trying to sleep in a nightgown and how dangerous it was – or should be, could be, would be – to be sleeping without even that flimsy protection under these insane circumstances.
She had, she was certain, heard his slacks being removed. But what else? Was he lying there now, inches away, stark naked? Or wearing only shorts and socks? She had to stifle a giggle at that thought. She simply couldn’t imagine him not removing his socks. But imagining him removing his shorts was all too easy to imagine, and so was the frisson of sensation she felt at the mere idea of being only inches away from his totally naked body.
I promise I won’t touch you, or molest you, or torment you, or even ravish you. He hadn’t added “which is probably what you really want,” but he didn’t have to, and his words echoed in the silence of the room, thundering above the soft sound of his breathing, clouding her mind, disrupting her thoughts – no, dominating her thoughts.
She huddled like a terrified animal, afraid to get up and flee the bed, afraid to stay, certain he was already asleep and wouldn’t notice anyway, equally certain he would catch her if she tried.
The confusion made sleep impossible, and she wriggled restlessly, afraid to turn over, afraid to just straighten out her huddled body and relax, afraid ... afraid ... afraid ...
Her fear lasted minutes that seemed like hours, days, years, but eventually she slept, and woke with no confusion about one thing. Bevan hadn’t come naked into her bed!
25
It seemed so
natural, waking up snuggled in against Bevan Keene’s back, her body stretched along the length of his, her arm flung carelessly across his waist, her own knees tucked into the curve of his. Spoon-fashion, her mother would have called it.
Judith, luxuriating in the warmth of his body against her own, swimming slowly upward from the soft, silent depths of slumber, sighed with contentment as she let her fingers slide across the warm flesh of Bevan’s hip and stomach. Then they touched the fabric of his boxer shorts – and what was beneath them – and she woke up sufficiently to realize where she was and what she was doing. And with whom.
Which was sufficient to bring the still-slumbering, all-too-masculine figure in her embrace fully awake, and before she could disengage, rearing backward in astonishment, a strong male hand had captured her straying wrist, and she was held fast as he rolled beneath her.
“Why, Judith Theresa,” he said, meeting her gaze with laughing, gray velvet eyes. His mustache quivered as mobile lips parted in an equally amused grin. “If I’d known you were this frisky in the mornings, I’d have tried to join you in bed long ago. So you’re a morning person, eh?”
Bevan wriggled just sufficiently so that Judith ended up lying squarely on top of him, the warmth of his muscular body flowing easily through the flimsy fabric of her sleep-twisted nightgown, the blatant solidness of his erection hard against her pelvis and his strong arms now wrapped around her, holding her in place with not even wiggle-room. Not that she’d dare to wiggle. Things were quite provocative enough without adding to her problems.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice half pleading, half breathless with a desire that suddenly terrified her. Against the warmth of his chest, she could feel her breasts reacting to her needs, knew her nipples were firming, thrusting against him just as he was thrusting against her body, lower down.
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