She had every reason to cancel, Izzy told herself as she picked up the telephone, except there was a voice-mail message. It wasn’t Diego stuck at work, as she had rather hoped, but the real estate agent with a pathetic offer. ‘It’s a good offer, you should seriously consider it,’ played the message. Henry had been a real estate agent and had practically said those words in his sleep so she deleted it and got back to fretting about Diego. The fact that she was pregnant and had worked all morning, the fact that she wasn’t ready for the inevitable stares if she walked into the Penhally Ball with a dashing Spaniard on her arm when she should be home…
Doing what? Izzy asked herself.
Grieving, feeling wretched…
Her introspection was halted by the doorbell. No doubt the postman had been while she was out and it was her neighbour with another box of self-help or baby books that she had ordered on the internet during one of her glum times—a book that at the time she had convinced herself would be the one to show her, tell her, inform her how the hell she was supposed to be feeling…
‘Diego?’
It was only five p.m. and he shouldn’t be there, the ball didn’t start till seven.
There was no reason for him to be there now and, worse, she was only wearing a towel.
‘I thought I’d come early.’ He leant in the doorway and smiled, and either the baby did a big flip or her stomach curled in on itself. He was in evening wear, except he hadn’t shaved, and he looked ravishing, so ravishing she wanted to do just that—ravish him, drop the towel she was clinging to, right here at the front door. ‘To save you that phone call.’
‘What phone call?’ Izzy lowered her head a touch as she let him in, wishing there had been a warning sign on the kitchen scissors to inform her that it would be a full twelve to eighteen months before she could again hide her facial expressions with her hair if she chose to lop it all off. A fringe simply wouldn’t suffice. Her whole body was on fire, every pulse leaping at the sight of him.
‘The one where you tell me your back is aching, or you’re tired or that it was lovely of me to ask, but…’
‘I was just about to make it,’ Izzy admitted.
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s too soon.’
‘For what?’
‘For me to be out, for me to be…’ She blanched at the unsaid word.
‘Happy?’ Diego offered. ‘Living?’
Neither was quite right. Izzy didn’t correct him at first, she just clung to her towel, not to keep him from her but to keep her from him, and she stared at a man who had brought nothing but joy into her life. She wanted more of the same.
‘For me to be seeing someone,’ Izzy corrected. ‘Which I think I am.’
‘You are,’ he confirmed, and crossed the room. It was a relief to be kissed, to kiss him, to be kissed some more, to kiss back. He was less than subtle, he was devouring her, and any vision that their next kiss would be gentle and tender was far removed from delicious reality. Diego had waited long for another kiss and he was claiming it now, pressing her against the wall as she rejoiced in him, her towel falling. He kicked it away and all she wanted was more, more, more.
He tasted as he had that morning but decisiveness made it better. He smelt as he always had, just more concentrated now, and this close to Diego, this into Diego, she forgot to be scared and hold back.
Izzy just forgot.
She could have climbed up the wall and slid onto him he felt so delicious, but just as her senses faded to oblivion, Diego resurrected one of his.
‘Is that a bath?’
Now, this bit she didn’t get.
Sense should have prevailed.
In her mad dash to turn off the taps, okay, yes it was okay that he followed, but then, then she should have shown him the door, should have closed it on him and had a few moments’ pause, except she let him help her into the bath and then she remembered to be practical. ‘Diego, we can’t.’
‘I know.’ He took off his jacket, hung it on the doorhandle and then sat on the edge and looked at her, and she couldn’t believe how normal it felt.
‘We can’t,’ he confirmed, because of the baby she carried. ‘How far along are you again?’ He grinned and then rolled his eyes as he did the mental arithmetic, because this thing between them had already been going on for a couple of weeks!
‘Poor Diego.’ Why was she laughing? Lying in the bath and laughing like she was happy. And the fact that she was made her suddenly serious.
‘How can this work—ever?’ Izzy asked, because surely it was impossible. ‘You’re going back to Spain.’
‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t apply.’
‘There’ll be other jobs though. One day you will go back.’ And he couldn’t argue with that, so instead she watched as he rolled up his sleeves and two tanned olive hands took a lilac bar of soap and worked it. She could see the bubbles between his fingers, see the moist, slippery sheen of his hands, and her body quivered and begged for them to be on her. As his hands met her shoulders her mind stopped looking for reasons to halt this and her brain stopped begging for logic and all she did was feel—feel his strong fingers on her tense shoulders, feel the knots of tight muscles spasm in momentary protest as this large Spaniard had the nerve to tell them to let go. For months, no, maybe a year, or had it been longer, those muscles had been knotted with the serious job of holding her head up high and now they were being told to let go, to give in, that they could relax, regroup and get ready for the next mountain Izzy was certain that she would surely have to climb. But Diego’s hands worked on and convinced her shoulders, if not her mind, to do as the master skilfully commanded, and let go.
Her fringe almost met the water with the relief.
Like popping a balloon she just gave in, just groaned as her tension seeped into the water and then steamed out into the room.
She just couldn’t let go for long, though.
‘I can’t get my hair wet!’ She flailed at all his hands were offering, she just couldn’t relax and enjoy it in long stages. ‘How can this work, Diego?’ she asked again.
‘Sencillo,’ Diego said, ‘It doesn’t have to be complicated. Why not just for now? Why not for as long as we make each other happy?’
‘Because in nine weeks I’ll be diving into postnatal depression and I won’t be making anyone happy!’
She wanted guarantees.
Wanted a little piece of paper stamped with I won’t hurt you to be handed to her now, except she’d had that once, Izzy realised as she lay there, a big piece of paper called a wedding certificate, and it hadn’t counted for a thing.
Before Diego had come along living had been like essential surgery without analgesia.
Why would she deny herself the balm of relief?
And there was a wobble of guilt there, but for him. ‘What if I’m using you!’ God, she had never been so honest, and certainly not with a man. All her relationships had been Izzy pleasing others, Izzy saying the right thing, and now here she was, ten minutes into a new one and saying the wrong thing, saying truthfully what was on her mind. ‘What if I’m using you to get through this?’
And he thought about it for a moment, he actually did, and then he came to his decision.
‘Use away!’
‘What if I’m avoiding my pain by…?’
‘Shut up.’ He grinned and leaned over and kissed her a nice lazy kiss. Then he kissed her shoulder and along the slippery wet lines of her neck.
Oh, Diego loved women. He loved curves on women and two of Izzy’s were floating on the water, just bobbing there, and his hands moved to her shoulders, because it seemed more polite. But then his hands just moved to where they wanted to be and he caressed them, caressed her. His big, dark hands cupped and soaped her very white, rather large, to Izzy rather ugly breasts, but maybe they weren’t so ugly, because from the trip in his breathing and the bob of his tongue on his dark lips, she had the feeling that one tug of his tie and he’d be in the water with her, and the
re would be two empty seats at the Penhally Charity Ball.
‘We can’t,’ she said again and it was the feeblest of protests, because the stubble of his chin was scratching her breast now, his tongue on her nipple and her fingers in his hair.
‘You can,’ Diego said, as his hand slid beneath the water.
She never fully forgot about the hell of the past months and years. No matter how good, how happy, how busy she was, no matter what conversation she was holding, it never completely left her mind, but as his hand slid beneath the water and Izzy could feel his fingers at the top of her thighs, ever-present thoughts started to fade. She could feel his hot mouth on her cool shoulder and always, always, always she had thought of pleasing him, not Diego, but him, and the mute button hit and there was nothing to think of but this, nothing to relish but Diego’s tender explorations as she wriggled in his palm.
Her cynical voice gave one last call for order. After all, she didn’t come with instructions, and he must do this an awful lot, because his fingers read her so well, but she was kissing his neck and above his white collar, coiling her wet fingers in his dark hair as a heavenly regular pressure beat beneath the water. And suddenly she didn’t care if he did this a lot, he was doing it to her, right now, and he could go on doing it for ever, it was so divine. He stroked her back to life, cajoled her hibernating clitoris from its dreamless sleep, and it stretched and peeked out and Izzy was sure this feeling must end, that she’d shift or he’d pause and that the magic would stop, and she didn’t want it to.
She couldn’t lean back because she didn’t want to.
She couldn’t reach for the sides of the bath because then she couldn’t hold him.
She held his shirt-clad back with wet arms and muffled her face in his neck and beneath the cologne that he was wearing tonight was the true scent of him, the one that every cell in her body had flared for on sight and burnt now with direct contact.
Let go, his fingers insisted. Let go, the stubble of his chin told her eyelids as she pressed her face into him. She could hear the lap, lap, lap of the water and the patience yet relentlessness of him and she did as his fingers told her, she didn’t know what she said and she didn’t know what she did—she just let go. She was almost climbing out of the bath and into his arms, but he held her down and it was so much better than being just friends. And as she opened her eyes he closed his; as he struggled to get through the next nine seconds, Izzy was wondering how they’d get through the next nine weeks. She wanted more of him.
‘We’re going to be late.’ He was trying to sound normal.
Really, really late, because Izzy now had to sort out her hair and do her make-up and show him where the ironing board was so he could iron his shirt dry.
But it was more than worth it.
Chapter Nine
SHE had known heads would turn and they did, but what Izzy hadn’t expected were the smiles that followed the arches of the eyebrows as they walked in together.
Real smiles, because how could they not?
Izzy had been through so very much and her friends and colleagues had been worried about her, had not known how to react in the face of such raw pain and grief, but tonight she was glowing and it wasn’t just from the pregnancy.
‘Don’t you dare say you’re just friends, because I won’t believe you.’ Megan came over as Diego went to the bar. ‘Friends,’ Megan said, ‘are able to go two minutes without eye contact,’ she pointed out as she caught Izzy and Diego share a lingering look from across the room. ‘Friends don’t light up a room with their energy when they walk in. Friends don’t cause every head to turn. Friends, my foot…’ Megan laughed.
‘Okay, ‘Izzy said, and though it was all a bit like a runaway train, she felt exhilarated as she rode it, smiled as she said it: ‘We’re more than friends.’
‘Happy?’ Megan checked.
‘Very.’
‘Then I’m happy for you,’ Megan said. Izzy was sure she would have loved to have said more, but sometimes good friends didn’t. Sometimes good friends had to let you make your own success or mistakes and be there for you whatever the outcome. Megan confirmed that with her next words.
‘I’m always here.’
‘I know that.’
‘So how did you manage the night off? I thought you were on.’
‘No.’ Izzy shook her head, ‘I told you, I’m only doing days till the baby’s born. I thought you were on call?’
‘Richard didn’t want to come to the ball, so he’s covering for me,’ Megan said. ‘So who’s holding the fort in A and E tonight?’
‘Mitch,’ Izzy said.
‘He’s only a resident.’
‘Oh, Ben is on call, said he might pop in if he can get away…’ And her voice trailed off, because Izzy realised then that Megan hadn’t actually been enquiring about her roster, she had been fishing to find out the whereabouts of someone else. And as Megan stood and kissed Izzy on the cheek and headed off into the throng of people, Izzy found a corner of an unexpected jigsaw.
She could see Megan, her usually pale cheeks, suddenly flushed and pink, desperately trying to focus on a conversation, but her green eyes kept flicking over to Josh. It was as if there were an invisible thread between them, a thread that tightened. She watched as Josh worked the room, each greeting, each two-minute conversation seemed to be dragging him on a human Mexican wave towards Megan. The pull was so strong, Izzy could have sworn she could have reached out and grabbed it.
And then it snapped.
Izzy watched as a blonde woman walked over, all smiles, and kissed Josh possessively on the lips. Izzy saw the wedding band glint on her finger and as Megan’s face turned away, Izzy knew Megan had just seen it too.
‘Excuse me…’ All the colour had drained out of Megan’s face and she walked quickly to the ladies. Izzy looked over at Josh who was concentrating on something his wife was saying, but then he caught her eye and Izzy couldn’t read his expression, but something told her it was a plea to help.
‘Here…’ Diego was back with the drinks and it was Izzy’s turn to excuse herself, but by the time she got to the ladies Megan was on her way out.
‘Hey?’ Izzy smiled. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m great!’ Megan gave a dazzling smile. ‘It’s always a good night.’
‘Megan?’ Izzy caught her friend’s arm, but Megan shook it off.
‘I must get back out there.’
Oh, she wanted to know what was going on, to help, to fix, to share, only it was clear all Megan wanted to do was to get through this night.
‘Sit with us,’ Izzy suggested. ‘I thought we would be with the emergency guys and girls or NICU, but we left the booking too late and we’re with the maternity mob. Come and keep us company.’ It was the best she could do for Megan right now and when Megan jumped at the suggestion, Izzy knew she had been right.
There was something going on with Megan and Josh.
Or, Izzy pondered, there had been.
It was actually a good night—the food was wonderful, the company great. Diego was clearly a hit with the maternity team as well, but as the table was cleared and the dancing commenced Izzy was uncomfortable all of a sudden in the hard chair. Stretching her spine, she shifted her weight and she was glad to stretch her legs when Diego asked her to dance.
It was such bliss to be in his arms.
To smell him, to be held by him.
She wished the music would last for ever—that somehow she could freeze this moment of time, where there was no past to run from and no future that could change things. She wished she could dance and dance, just hold this moment and forever feel his breath on her neck and his warm hands on her back, to feel the bulge of her pregnant stomach pressed to his and to remember…
She was dizzy almost remembering a couple of hours earlier.
‘Glad you came?’ Diego asked.
‘Very,’ Izzy said, and then pulled back and smiled. ‘And more than a little surprised that I did.’
>
Every day he saw another side to her.
Diego was far from stupid. Of course he had questioned the wisdom of getting involved with someone at such a vulnerable time—fatherhood was not on his agenda. After a lifetime of rules and the stuffy confines of his family, he had sworn it would be years before anyone or anything pinned him down. He was devoted to his work and everything else was just a pleasure, but now, holding her in his arms, life was starting to look a little different.
‘Hey.’ He’d sensed her distraction. ‘What are you watching?’
‘What’s going on,’ she asked, ‘with Megan and Josh?’
Diego rolled his eyes. ‘Not you too? Rita, my ward clerk, is obsessed with them.’
‘Megan’s been different lately,’ Izzy insisted. ‘Surely you’ve noticed?’
‘I’ve had my mind on other things,’ he said, pulling her in a little tighter. ‘There’s nothing going on,’ Diego said assuredly, and glanced at the subjects of their conversation. ‘They’re not even talking to each other.’
Which was such a male thing to say, but Megan was right, Izzy thought, watching Josh’s eyes scan the room as he danced with his wife, watched them locate and capture and hold their target, almost in apology, until Megan tore hers away.
Friends don’t share looks like that.
But in that moment all thoughts of Josh and Megan faded, all thoughts of Diego and romance too, because the back pain she had felt while sitting returned, spreading out from her spine like two large hands, stretching around to her stomach and squeezing. It wasn’t a pain as such, she’d been having Braxton-Hicks’ contractions, but this felt different, tighter. This didn’t take her breath, neither did it stop her swaying in the darkness with Diego, but she was more than aware of it and then it was gone and she tried to forget that it had happened. only Diego had been aware of it too.
He had felt her stomach, which was pressed into his, tighten.
He didn’t want to be one of those paranoid people. She was just dancing on so he did too, but he was almost more aware of her body than his own. He could feel the slight shift and knew that even though she danced on and held him, her mind was no longer there.
St Piran's: The Wedding of The Year / St Piran's: Rescuing Pregnant Cinderella Page 24
