She caught her breath on a gurgle of laughter. ‘I know. I’m still dazed about that.’
He put his hand on the curve of her belly. ‘There are many ways. Let me show you another.’ And he pulled the pillows up behind him and sat her astride him.
Clare caught her breath again as she rested on her hands on the hard wall of his chest. Then, as he watched her intently, she straightened and he took in every movement of her fuller breasts, the curves of her shoulders and the mound of her belly.
Something possessed her—perhaps the admiration in his eyes—and she stretched her arms upwards. He pulled his knees up and she leant back against them and gasped as he cupped her breasts and teased her nipples with his thumbs.
Then he said barely audibly, ‘Don’t move.’
‘Why not? It’s…too nice,’ she said huskily.
‘Because if you do it will be—all over for me.’
‘Ah. On the other hand, would it matter if I had the same problem?’ Her aquamarine eyes were perfectly serious.
He took an unsteady breath and wondered if she had any idea how her new rich and generous curves suited her. How the midnight gloss of her tangled curls complemented the pale sheen of her skin and the ripening and darkening of her nipples, together with their heightened sensitivity, tantalized him almost unbearably.
Then she did move and they were swept away on a tide of splendid pleasure.
‘Less decorous and appropriate?’ he murmured into her hair a while later.
‘Mmm,’ she responded.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked as they lay in a voluptuous tangle of limbs, dewed with perspiration and palpably sated.
‘Not shoes or ships and sealing wax,’ she said dreamily. ‘Not cabbages—definitely kings.’
‘Clare—’ he held her close ‘—that’s what you do to me. I hope you believe it now.’
‘I do,’ she said quietly, and fell asleep in his arms. It was something she didn’t take issue with even in the privacy of her mind for the rest of their honeymoon.
After breakfast the next morning they decided to go for a swim.
Clare eyed herself in her new maternity swimming costume and said, ‘I see.’
He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘What?’
‘That this was a mistake.’ She studied herself in the mirror in the pretty enough costume, primrose-yellow with little white polka dots, but it was obvious she didn’t enjoy the view.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ he asked with a frown.
She plucked at the frilled skirt that fell from below the bust to the tops of her thighs and concealed an expanding panel beneath it ‘I’ll tell you: it makes me feel tubby, matronly and about a hundred years old.’
‘Now you mention it,’ he murmured, ‘your bikinis were better.’
‘I can’t fit into any of my bikinis and even if I could I’d feel a bit funny—all of which is your fault, Mr Hewitt!’
‘You mean I did this to you?’ he queried.
‘Well—yes!’
‘Then perhaps I can come up with a solution,’ he said slowly. ‘Stay there.’ He walked out.
Clare, who wasn’t feeling seriously aggrieved, sat down on the bed to wait.
He came back twenty minutes later and tipped the contents of a resort shop bag onto the bed. Two bikinis fell out with two T-shirts.
‘But,’ she said, ‘I—’
‘Hang on. They’re a couple of sizes larger.’ He picked up one pair, a lovely concoction of emerald Lycra, and picked up the soft jade T-shirt in his other hand. ‘For public consumption you could wear the T-shirt over the top. It probably wouldn’t hurt to wear a shirt while you swim anyway; the sun is pretty powerful up here. But for private consumption—that is to say, for my eyes only—you could leave the shirt off.’
Clare stared at him.
‘Same goes for this combination,’ he said, and discarded the emerald pair and shirt to lift up the other pair—wild rice Lycra this time with a matching T-shirt. ‘Of course, for private consumption, you could leave not only the shirt but the top off as well.’
Still Clare said nothing.
‘You don’t approve?’
‘I … think you’re a genius!’ She jumped up and kissed him. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ She started to strip off the offending maternity suit.
‘You have a very serious turn of mind for the most part?’ he suggested.
She chuckled. ‘You’re also a darling!’
‘There’s more.’ But he waited until she was in the emerald bikini with the T-shirt on before he went outside and returned with two hats, a pair of fuchsia-pink canvas shoes and a straw tote bag.
‘Lachlan! Is there anything left in the shop?’
‘Plenty more. Now this hat—’ he held up a glorious broad-brimmed raffia hat with a green and fuchsia silk scarf around the crown ‘—is for lazing and sunbathing. Whereas this one—’ he picked up a sporty little peaked baseball cap ‘—is for when we’re more active in the sun, boating et cetera. So are the shoes.’
Clare donned the big hat carefully, setting it straight on her head and fluffing out her hair beneath it at the back. She slipped the shoes on and slung the straw bag over her shoulder. The effect was immediately glamorous, the shirt all but disguised her pregnant state, and all of a sudden she felt like a million dollars in comparison to how she’d felt earlier.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I mean that you have such good taste in clothes, such a sense of colour as well as good taste in—’ She stopped.
‘In women?’ he drawled. He had his shoulders propped against the door frame and he wore a pair of blue board shorts with a grey T-shirt. His feet were bare.
‘I mean—I didn’t mean … how did that come out?’ she asked helplessly.
He shrugged. ‘I have to agree about my taste in women,’ he said lazily as he ran his grey eyes over her. He smiled slightly as she coloured a bit.
‘But,’ he added, ‘I have to confess,’ he paused and she waited, wide-eyed ‘…that the girl in the shop is responsible for choosing all this.’ He waved a hand. ‘She knew exactly what colours and styles would suit you. By the way, she also complimented me on my taste in women.’
‘Even though I’m pregnant?’ Clare looked surprised.
‘That’s what you don’t seem to understand—how much it becomes you.’
Clare grimaced. ‘Oh, well, I’ll take your word for it.’
‘No, that’s not good enough—believe it, Clare. You’re a sight for sore eyes. You’re radiant—’
‘And blooming, shortly to become what they call a visual overload!’ She stopped laughing and said softly and warmly, ‘I do believe it. How could I not? Thank you. For restoring my confidence and spending a small fortune in the process.’ She kissed him again and said gaily, ‘Shall we swim, Mr Hewitt?’
He didn’t reply but took her hand and looked down into her eyes for a long moment in a way that was quizzical yet oddly enigmatic. Then he kissed her knuckles and murmured, ‘After you, Mrs Hewitt.’
Clare blinked. ‘That’s the first time.’
He raised an eyebrow at her.
‘Anyone’s called me Mrs Hewitt.’
His lips twisted. ‘How does it feel?’
‘Very … grand,’ she said slowly. ‘It has a … solid, proper ring to it.’
‘Much better than Ms Montrose, I agree.’
‘I explained about that.’
‘I know. That was our first little run-in, if I recall correctly.’
‘As a matter of fact, you’re wrong,’ Clare said. ‘My first run-in with you, although I may not have let on, was to do with the way you looked me up and down extremely thoroughly the first time you laid eyes on me.’
He laughed softly. ‘I was surprised.’
‘Why?’ She looked mystified.
‘I knew you had to be brainy but I also expected you to be… I don’t think I ought to say it.’
‘A dog?’ she queried dangero
usly.
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that but—’
‘How like a typical man!’
‘That’s the second time you’ve said that to me in two days.’
She stared at him with her lips compressed then they eased a bit and finally they curved into a smile. ‘I must admit I was surprised, too. Even impressed, although against my better judgement.’
He laughed. ‘There you go. But to get back to what brought this on—shall we swim, Mrs Hewitt?’
‘Yes, please, Mr Hewitt,’ she said humorously.
They spent their days swimming, lying on the beach, fishing and sailing. They took an excursion to Zoe Bay in a hired motor cruiser.
On the eastern side of Hinchinbrook, Zoe Bay had beaches and walks, one up a rock-strewn creek bed to a rock pool below a waterfall. They swam beneath the waterfall then climbed down and swam again from a beach up the north arm of the bay. There was absolutely no one in sight of this beach, so they swam without their clothes in the green-tinted clear water and the high craggy peaks of Hinchinbrook floated in the blue sky above them.
Clare’s skin began to look like pale honey and she glowed with health. Lachlan made her take a rest every afternoon although he himself often went scuba-diving or water-skiing, both pursuits not recommended for pregnant ladies.
And she would often awake from her afternoon nap to find him leaning over her and teasing her eyebrow with the tip of his finger or kissing her toes.
It was very hot and the short dusks of the tropics came as a welcome relief. And after they’d watched the sun set she would retire to their room, leaving him to chat to other guests, and get ready for dinner.
It was on their fourth night that it happened. She’d washed her hair, showered the mixture of salt and sand off her body, smoothed moisturizer all over her and debated what to wear while she dried and styled her hair. In the end she chose a long almond-coloured dress, with a scooped neck, cap sleeves and gathered below her breasts. A row of tiny gold buttons ran down the front and she slipped on gold sandals and her pearls.
Then she reached for a creamy hibiscus from the flower arrangement and lifted her arms to pin it into her hair, but stopped.
Lachlan came in at that point and took in her raised arms, her wide eyes and her frozen stance. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said immediately.
‘I … nothing … I don’t know.’ She lowered her arms and put her hands on her stomach. ‘It moved, I think,’ she said in an awed voice. ‘I mean they moved, or one of them did. How incredible!’
He came across and put his hands on her stomach. But after a moment he kissed the tip of her nose and said he could feel nothing.
‘Well, it was just a feather touch but I’m sure it was that—There it goes again!’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘There, there, baby—babies,’ she crooned to her stomach. ‘Mama’s here!’
He laughed as he pulled off his shirt. ‘We’ll have to start thinking about names. Any preferences?’ he called from the shower.
‘Definitely not Tweedledum and Tweedledee! And I don’t know what they are, which makes it difficult. I could have known if I’d wanted to but I decided to be traditional—No, that’s not correct,’ she amended. ‘I just couldn’t think straight.’
He came out of the shower wrapped in a towel. ‘Then we’d better have two sets of boys’ names and two sets of girls’ names ready,’ he said wryly. ‘Personally, I’ve always liked Tom.’ He threw his towel away and started to dress.
Clare sat down on the bed and watched him. She always enjoyed the ritual of watching him dress, not only because he was a joy to behold in all the lean, muscled glory of his body but because he did it with such decision. No humming and ha-ing for this member of the male species, she thought with secret amusement, but she wondered what would happen if it wasn’t all there, clean and pressed and where it should be for him.
Not that she had had anything to do with it—Orpheus took great care of its guests in every respect. But she realized she would have much to do with it when they got home, and she blinked several times.
‘Clare?’ He stood before her, tucking a crisp white T-shirt into navy cotton trousers. ‘Don’t you like Tom? It is your father’s—’
‘I know and I do like it and he’s already asked for it. So that’s one settled but I was thinking of something else.’
He sat down beside her. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes, how you would be if I’m not the best housekeeper in the world,’ she said gravely.
‘Ah! I thought you might have guessed.’
‘Not—really,’ she said with a slight frown at his unusually stern expression.
‘An absolute ogre—if my meals aren’t to my liking and my shirts aren’t ironed properly I’m liable to cut all your privileges, beat you black and blue—’
‘No, seriously,’ she said laughingly.
‘Seriously?’ He eyed her perfectly seriously. ‘Move to a hotel? No, I don’t give a damn to be honest—what brought this on?’
‘I was watching the way you dress.’
‘Clare—’ he took her hand ‘—it wouldn’t take much of that kind of talk to make me undress.’
‘No—’
‘No? Don’t tell me, you’re starving,’ he said mournfully.
‘Well, I am,’ she conceded, ‘but don’t you forget I’m eating for three. Not that you should think that way, I’ve read, but, well—how did we get onto this?’
‘You said no, very definitely no.’ He looked hurt but there was a wicked glint in his eyes that she knew well.
‘I wasn’t talking about that at all, as it happens.’
‘It goes from bad to worse—you were watching me dress with quite other thoughts on your mind? Are you tired of me already, Clare?’
‘Lachlan, will you just shut up?’ she warned although her eyes were dancing.
‘Be my guest,’ he invited.
‘I was watching the way you dress and it struck me that you do it with all the confidence of a man who is supremely used to having everything in its rightful place—as if you’ve never in your life had to search for matching socks or clean shirts.’
‘Clare—’ he stared at her ‘—are you serious?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ She shrugged at his look of bemusement. ‘I can’t help it, that’s what was going through my mind, which led me to wonder how successful I would be—at that kind of thing.’
‘Bloody hell—I just do it, I’ve never even thought about it—’
‘As I suspected,’ she said gravely.
‘Is this seriously going to interfere with our love life?’
‘No …’
‘I think I need more reassurance. Otherwise I’ll be plagued by the thought that every time you see me without my clothes the laundering and sorting and hanging up of them will leap into your mind and—’
‘Will you stop being such an idiot?’ she said through her laughter and leant her cheek on his shoulder.
‘So the answer’s still no?’ He kissed the top of her head.
‘Yes! Well, until after dinner at least.’
‘That’s better,’ he said slowly, ‘but I think I ought to take out a little insurance—any idea what I have in mind?’
‘Yes, this,’ she said promptly, and wound her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.
For some reason this sobered him genuinely, and he looked down at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable.
‘What now?’ she asked softly.
At last a touch of humour lit his eyes and twisted his lips. ‘If it took an army of housekeepers to preserve this kind of status quo between us, Clare, I’d do it.’
‘Oh, I think one might be enough—shall we go and eat?’
The rest of their honeymoon sped by.
On their last night they sat on the veranda steps outside their room holding hands and she said, ‘Thank you for a lovely honeymoon. It’s going to be hard to leave all this.’
She raised an eyebrow at him.
‘I thought you might be champing at the bit to get back to work.’
‘Lachlan, did I look as if I was?’
He studied her hand, turning her plain gold wedding ring round and round with his fingers. She had a pink Argyle diamond engagement ring that matched the stone on her pearls to go with it but wasn’t wearing it. ‘No,’ he said at last, ‘but I don’t always know what you’re thinking.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘Nine times out of ten you seem to.’
‘So you’re not in a fever to get back to work?’
‘No, I’m not. For once in my life, no.’
‘Do you think that will change when we do get back?’
‘I …’ She paused.
‘Or,’ he said slowly, ‘is it a bit like stepping off the end of the earth—going back tomorrow?’
She took a breath and realized suddenly that it was. That subconsciously she had blocked it from her mind—not hard to do with the perfection of their honeymoon but all the same… ‘A little,’ she confessed. ‘I haven’t been able to think about it, or wanted to, I guess. But I’m sure I’ll be fine. Let’s not spoil our last night, it’s been so perfect—’
‘Clare, I’m in complete agreement about not spoiling our last night and you’ve been perfect, but I think it’s better to talk about it now,’ he said firmly. ‘Otherwise this could become a separate zone with an unreal quality to it. But it shouldn’t be possible to spoil it simply by talking about the rest of our lives.’
She bit her lip as she saw the truth of his words. ‘I didn’t really mean that.’ She stopped and sighed. ‘But I have to say that after we decided to get married and I went back to Rosemont I couldn’t—I just couldn’t picture myself there.’
She flinched inwardly as soon as she’d said it and waited for his reaction a bit nervously.
But he surprised her. ‘That’s only to be expected. I think most married couples expect to start out in a place of their own, but if not that certainly not the domain of a previous wife.’
Clare glanced at him, taken aback.
He met her glance squarely. ‘We’re also going to encounter plenty of times when we have to talk about Serena, and I don’t want it to hurt or upset you when we do.’
Having His Babies (Harlequin Presents) Page 9
