Wife and Mother Wanted (Mills & Boon Cherish)

by Nicola Marsh

  Unless he had dinner with her some other night? As a thank-you for all she’d done for Molly? Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

  ‘Molly, would you mind getting my jacket? It’s on my bed.’

  ‘Sure thing, Daddy.’ Molly scampered off, leaving him to ask out a woman for the first time in seven years.

  ‘Okey-dokey. I’ll be off.’ Carissa smiled and made to go past him, but he laid a hand on her arm.

  ‘Carissa, wait.’

  ‘Yes?’ She stared up at him, curiosity in her blue eyes. This would have been easier if she’d been on the other side of the room, not close enough that he could see the gold flecks around her irises or smell the faintest rose essence from her skin.

  Electricity arced between them, and he wondered if dinner was such a good idea after all. It was one thing to say thank you, but what if she stared at him like this, made him laugh like she usually did, and he dropped his guard all together? The results could be cataclysmic.

  ‘Have dinner with me,’ he blurted out, knowing if he didn’t get the words out now he never would.

  ‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened slightly as shock replaced the curiosity he’d glimpsed seconds ago.

  He rushed on. ‘Not tonight. Another time. When it’s just you and me. As a thank-you for all you’ve done with Molly.’

  Great—now he was blabbering like an idiot.

  ‘I don’t need thanks. She’s a special little girl and I love spending time with her.’

  ‘Humour me,’ he said, wondering if he sounded as desperate as he felt. It was his first overture to a woman in years, and he doubted if his meagre confidence could stand a knock-back.

  How ironic that the cocky guy he’d been in his younger days—the same guy who’d had women slipping their phone numbers into his pocket on a regular basis since he’d turned eighteen—could be this hung up over an invitation to dinner.

  ‘Are you asking me on a date?’

  ‘It’s dinner,’ he said, not needing the added pressure of putting a label on their dinner together. Date? The mere mention of the word would have him running for the safety of his workshed and not coming out for a week.

  ‘Dinner, huh?’ The corners of her lush mouth twitched, as if she was laughing at him, and strangely enough he didn’t mind.

  At one time he would have walked away without a backward glance—after a scathing word or two—but he’d mellowed recently. And though he had a long way to go to completely let go of his guilt, not beating himself up over Jackie’s death on a daily basis was having positive results already.

  ‘Yes, dinner. You do have to eat at some stage, don’t you?’

  She paused and looked down at his hand, still resting on her arm, which he dropped in record time, before meeting his gaze again, her cheeky grin giving him his answer before she spoke.

  ‘Wow. When you put it like that, how can a girl refuse?’

  And, with that, she sent him a saucy wave and sauntered down the hallway and out of his front door.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CARISSA paced the floor in her living room, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from her dress for the hundredth time since she’d slipped it on. Brody had said dress up for dinner, so she had, wearing her favourite royal blue sheath which made the most of her limited curves, the thin shoestring straps leaving her shoulders bare. She’d dusted her upper body in a barely-there layer of bronze powder, adding a sparkle which captured the light when she moved.

  With her blonde curls secured in a diamanté barrette, matching drop earrings and enough make-up to hide the freckles on her nose and illuminate her eyes, she’d donned a confident mask that would hold her in good stead to face the evening ahead. She hoped.

  Brody’s invitation had floored her. And, as much as she’d drummed it into her head that he only wanted to thank her for the time she’d spent with Molly, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit flattered that maybe, just maybe, he’d finally noticed her as a woman and not just a playmate for Molly.

  The doorbell rang and she jumped, hoping her nerves would settle. Besides, what did she have to be nervous about? Brody had made it clear. This wasn’t a date. It was dinner. The simple act of two people sharing a meal. In a restaurant. At a cosy table. Making conversation. Staring at each other. Smiling. His sexy smile. Yikes!

  So much for settling her nerves. Her stomach felt as if mice were running on a treadmill in there, and in turn the thought of mice anywhere near her made her feel sick.

  ‘Breathe, you fool,’ she muttered, grabbing her evening purse, flicking the lamp on and pasting a smile on her face before she opened the door.

  ‘Hey, Brody.’ The imaginary mice picked up the pace as she drank in the sight of her neighbour sporting a new haircut, which shaved years off him, formal black pants and a snowy white open-necked shirt that accentuated his tan.

  The guy was seriously gorgeous. Some friend he was turning out to be. For a girl who didn’t want to consider the remotest possibility of a relationship, having her buddy turn up on her doorstep looking like every woman’s fantasy come to life wasn’t helping matters.

  ‘You look great,’ he said, his gaze travelling from her bare shoulders to the crimson toenails she’d managed to paint in thirty seconds after her shower and back, appreciation lighting his eyes as dusk descended.

  ‘Thanks. Where are we going?’

  ‘Stockton’s finest. The new and improved Kangaroo Corner.’

  ‘I haven’t been there since it reopened. Tahnee says it’s fabulous, with authentic bush tucker food.’

  ‘So I hear.’

  Their conversation came to an abrupt halt, and Carissa wondered if Brody had the jitters too. By his general disposition, she doubted he’d dated much since Jackie’s death—though what did she know? He might have some secret floozy tucked up in Sydney.

  Then again, remembering the way he’d asked her out, and his lack of response to her flirting, she thought, no, he didn’t…

  ‘Come on. We’ve got a long way to go.’

  ‘Yes, that ten-minute walk at a snail’s pace is going to be a killer,’ she said, hoping she’d manage in fancy three-inch heels. She never wore dressy shoes as a rule, preferring comfort over style, but in this dress, and with her height, she needed all the help she could get.

  As she teetered down the path next to him, he glanced at her shoes and said, ‘We could drive, you know.’

  ‘What? And ruin my chance to impress you with my prowess on stilts?’

  He chuckled, the deep, rich sound warming her, and she wished he would do it more often. Sure, she’d seen him smile a few times now, but he didn’t laugh very often. In fact she’d never seen him laugh around Molly, which was sad. Hopefully, tonight would be a step in the right direction for him.

  After all her efforts to drag him out of hermitsville, he’d finally surprised her and come out to play.

  ‘Those things do look a bit tricky. My vote would still be for the car. Wouldn’t want you twisting an ankle on the way and missing out on an evening of scintillating conversation and wit.’

  Carissa gaped at him. Not only was he going out, he was poking fun at himself too. Amazing.

  ‘Okay, you’ve convinced me. The car it is.’

  ‘Good. Think you can make it to my driveway in those things?’

  ‘Just watch me.’

  Unfortunately, he did, and having her knees quiver at the intensity of his stare didn’t help her balancing act as she negotiated cracks in the footpath, a clump of grass, and a carpet of gum-nuts scattered across the lawn.

  She reached his car—a newish family sedan—without mishap, and leaned against the passenger door in relief. ‘There. Nothing to it.’

  Shaking his head and grinning, he opened the door for her. ‘Why do women wear those things anyway? They look lethal.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand. It’s a girl thing. As for lethal—you haven’t seen me when I’m starving, so let’s see what this baby can do. And make it snappy.’ She tapped the t
op of the car and slid into the seat, making sure her dress behaved and didn’t ride up her legs. No use scaring the poor guy before they’d even made it to the restaurant.

  Rather than laugh, pain flashed across his face, and she stared at him in confusion, wondering what she’d said. Maybe it was a cop thing not to make jokes about speeding? She rarely drove these days, preferring a short walk to the shop to getting behind the wheel of her snazzy VW Beetle, but the odd time she’d driven to Sydney with Tahnee she had been called Lead-foot Lewis.

  Though perhaps it would be better not to let Brody in on that little secret if the mere mention of speed brought on his old grumpy face.

  Sliding behind the wheel, he buckled up, and glanced across to make sure she’d done the same before turning the ignition. He didn’t say a word, and she watched him, fascinated by the serious look on his face and the routine he went through: test tension of seat belt, look in rear vision mirror, check side mirror, glance over shoulder to blind spot, pull away from the kerb at a snail’s pace.

  She’d never seen anyone drive like that—going through the motions as if it was a ritual—and once again she attributed it to him having been a cop.

  Thankfully, the drive was quick—she couldn’t stand the oppressive silence as all his concentration focussed on the road—and in two minutes he’d parked outside Stockton’s fanciest restaurant. Kangaroo Corner might have a dinky name, but that was where the crass stuff ended. Run by one of Sydney’s top chefs, who’d defected to Stockton after marrying a local, it was legendary. And pricey—which was why she hadn’t been since it had reopened. Peter had been stingy, along with being boring and safe.

  Opening her door, he smiled and offered her a hand, and as she took it, trying not to wobble on her heels, she wondered if she’d imagined the tension of the last few minutes.

  ‘Let’s hop right in.’

  Holding her sides, she faked a laugh. ‘Stop it. You’re killing me.’

  ‘Bet you thought tonight would be boring. I’m just trying to impress you with my wit.’ He guided her up the steps, his hand warm and solid at her elbow.

  She sent him a mock frown, then spoiled the effect by collapsing into giggles. ‘Don’t try so hard. I can’t take much more of that funny business.’

  ‘Lady, if you think that’s funny business, you get out even less than I do.’ With that cryptic comment, he ushered her into the restaurant, where Mandy Morrell, the chef’s wife and daughter of Stockton’s richest landowner, showed them to their table.

  ‘Have a good evening, folks,’ Mandy said, winking at Carissa over Brody’s head and giving her the universal two-thumbs-up sign of encouragement.

  This isn’t what you think, Carissa wanted to say.

  It had been a long time since she’d had dinner with a man without trying to impress him or wondering whether he was potential boyfriend material, silently debating whether she’d let him kiss her at the end of the night. Being here with Brody felt comfortable, felt right, and being friends with a guy was a lot less complicated than the drama of being in a relationship.

  As long as she kept it that way and didn’t keep noticing the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, or the way his shirt stretched across his broad chest, or the way his sexy smile made her heart trip…

  Snapping the menu shut, he said, ‘I know what I’m having. How about you?’

  ‘Uh…yeah…right,’ she mumbled, totally sprung. She should have been perusing main courses, not daydreaming about her friend’s attributes. ‘I’ll have the satay,’ she said, choosing the first thing her gaze lighted on.

  ‘Interesting choice,’ he said, a smile hovering around his lips as he turned to the waitress. ‘I’ll have the pan-fried kangaroo steak in port wine sauce, please. And a bottle of your finest Shiraz.’

  Breathing a sigh of relief that she’d fluffed her way through that, she handed the menu to the waitress and settled back to enjoy the evening.

  ‘Bet Molly’s having a ball at Daisy’s,’ she said, toying with her napkin, which had tiny emus printed around the edges. ‘She couldn’t stop talking about the dinner party Daisy had planned for her and Jessie—who is her best friend, of course.’

  Brody paused to sniff the wine that had been decanted before nodding his approval for the waitress to pour. ‘I must admit I’m relieved that Molly and Daisy have bonded so quickly. When I first met Daisy she was a dour old thing who rarely cracked a smile. These days she’s a real trouper.’

  ‘Sounds like someone else I know,’ she muttered behind her wine glass, taking a sip and savouring the full-bodied ripe flavours of the Shiraz against her palate.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She smiled and lowered her glass. ‘Why don’t you propose a toast?’

  ‘Toast?’ The deep crinkle between his brows reappeared, as if she’d asked him to translate the menu into Japanese rather than say a few simple words.

  ‘Okay—here’s to being friends and the best neighbour a guy could wish for.’ He raised his glass in her direction and she leaned across to clink it. ‘And thanks for spending so much time with Molly. I’d pay a fortune trying to find a nanny to do half of what you do with her.’

  And, just like that, Carissa’s little bubble of self-delusion burst.

  Brody didn’t see her as a woman. He still considered her as a playmate for Molly—someone he could rely on to pick up the slack with his daughter. And, speaking of which, she had to approach him about Molly’s thoughts on her mother. Though how she’d introduce that particular topic into the dinner conversation, she had no idea.

  ‘No worries,’ she said, faking a smile and breathing a sigh of relief when their meals arrived in record time.

  ‘Mmm, this looks good.’ She concentrated on the food, finding it infinitely easier than maintaining eye contact with the man whose smile undermined her last thought about him not seeing her as a woman. ‘Delish.’

  The peanut sauce added a piquant flavour to the chicken, which had been grilled to perfection, and she’d shovelled white meat from three out of the four sticks into her mouth before realising she probably looked like a pig.

  ‘Glad you’re enjoying it. I must say, I didn’t think you’d be that adventurous.’

  ‘Hmm?’ She finished the last of the satay sticks and mopped up the delicious sauce with a piece of damper bread.

  ‘Choosing a dish like that.’

  ‘Satay? What’s so adventurous about that?’

  The corners of his eyes creased into delightful laugh lines as he grinned. ‘Tell me you read the fine print under each main course?’

  Fine print? Uh, not likely—seeing as she’d been too busy thinking about his sexy smile at the time.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m pretty decisive when it comes to food. I know what I like and I go for it.’

  ‘Oh, so you’ve tried witchetty grubs before?’

  ‘W-what?’

  He had to be kidding, right? Grubs? She’d eaten grubs? Yuck!

  His grin waned, but she could tell he wanted to laugh by the way his mouth twitched. ‘Apparently they taste just like chicken, so I’m told.’

  ‘And who told you that, Mr Bush Tucker Man?’ Her stomach churned at the thought of grubs crawling around in there, before she silently chastised herself to stop being so silly. Her meal had been delicious, and it had tasted like chicken—so much so that she’d thought she’d been eating fowl rather than the crawly things fowls ate.

  ‘I read it in the fine print.’ He burst out laughing, and she tried a frown for two seconds before joining in.

  Holding her hand up, she said, ‘Okay, you’ve had your fun. Why don’t you finish that kangaroo steak before it hops off your plate and let me focus on dessert? Surely I can’t go wrong there?’

  He continued to chortle and picked up his knife and fork, slicing into the rare meat which made her stomach turn more than the thought of the grubs.

  ‘And this time I’ll read the fine print.’


  She checked out the specials board and decided that quandong soufflé sounded superb—after reading that quandongs were the Outback’s most famous fruit, a tart peach which grew wild in the desert.

  ‘Good idea.’ He finished his meal, sipped at his wine and studied her over the rim of his glass. ‘You know, we’ve been neighbours for a couple of months now, but I don’t really know much about you.’

  Huh? Stockton’s resident hermit wanted to get personal? This night was turning into one surprise after another.

  She kept her answer deliberately light-hearted, unwilling to spoil the evening with anything too heavy. Besides, she had a feeling she’d be doing that in the not too distant future, once she broached the subject of Molly with him.

  ‘What’s there to know? I’m a city girl who grew up in Sydney. My adoptive parents died within a year of each other when I was nineteen. Kristen, Tahnee and I were reunited a year later, and I moved here to be closer to Tahnee.’

  ‘And Kristen?’

  ‘She’s the high-flyer of the Lewis trio. She has an apartment in the snazzy Arcadia Towers in Sydney, though she spends most of her time jetting around the world.’

  ‘Sounds glamorous.’

  Carissa nodded, exceedingly proud of her corporate sister and wishing they could spend more time together. ‘She’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Must be a family trait,’ he said, staring at her with those melted chocolate eyes, making her feel as if she was the only woman in the world he’d ever said that to. Which couldn’t be true, of course. Molly was a beautiful child, and she must take after her mother with her fair colouring.

  ‘Thanks. You saw Tahnee at the Easter pageant. She’s an illustrator for children’s books.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re all talented too. What made you decide to open a fairy shop?’

  Whether it was the intimacy of the restaurant, with its muted candlelight, burgundy walls and plush velvet chairs, or the genuine interest of the man sitting opposite she didn’t know, but she found herself telling him the truth rather than giving the flip answer she’d prefer.