by Fiona Lowe
She winced. ‘Yep, but plans have a funny way of not working out. A few months before the wedding, in the middle of working flat out and trying to appease Anthony’s mother, who wanted her son to have the full-catastrophe extravaganza, I missed two periods. I assumed I was pregnant and we were over the moon but…’ She faltered, and took a bite of her ice cream, bracing herself for the words she really didn’t want to speak.
‘It’s not unusual to skip a couple of periods during high-stress times.’
Nick’s understanding voice encased her and she pushed on. ‘If it had been that easy I wouldn’t be standing here. When the blood-test report came back there were no signs of hCG.’ She cleared her throat against the tightening sensation. ‘I wasn’t pregnant, my FSH levels were enormously high and my oestrogen was below the floor.’
‘Premature ovarian failure.’ He softly spoke the words for her as his hand slowly curled around hers. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t just a hormonal aberration?’
She shook her head. ‘I prayed for that but I had a series of tests and for some reason my ovaries packed in at twenty-seven.’
‘That totally sucks.’ He rubbed his free hand through his hair, the silver strands on his temples glinting. ‘So you and Anthony discussed adoption, right?’
She stared at him, her heart breaking. How was it that this man in front of her, this man who didn’t want children of his own, could see that there was another path available? Her breath shuddered out as she spoke the final indignity. ‘Anthony refused to discuss egg donors or adoption. He blamed me for causing the POF, blamed my workload, my focus on my career—blamed me, full stop. I went into shock, unable to believe his reaction, but that’s when I realised…’ She fisted her hands, willing herself to stay strong and steady.
Nick’s frown deepened but his voice was gentle. ‘That’s when you realised what?’
She bit her lip. ‘That he didn’t love me. That I was just the means to his end.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Clear green eyes bored into her, searching for an explanation.
‘POF exposed the truth about my relationship, which it turns out was a sham. I had invested all my love in something that didn’t exist.’ She rubbed her forehead with her forefinger, trying to marshal her thoughts into a coherent sequence. ‘Anthony was older than me and from a large Italian family. I had no idea that he’d been promised a huge amount of family money when he produced a grandchild. Apparently, when I met him, his business was struggling and he needed a cash injection so he’d borrowed against this promise of money.’
Nick’s sharp intake of breath sounded in her ears but she pushed on, just wanting to get the story over with. ‘It turns out that he’d come to the fundraiser with the express purpose of meeting someone who loved kids and would fall for his charm and happily provide him with the child he needed. I was the bunny that fell but the moment he found out I was faulty goods, he replaced me with Lisa, who, it appears, is as fertile as a rabbit.’ She blinked rapidly, hating her own weakness. ‘Their first child is due in a few months.’
‘He’s a complete bastard.’
She gave a watery laugh. ‘Yeah, he is.’
‘So really POF saved you.’
Startled, she looked up at him, not believing he had said those words. ‘Saved me? It stole everything from me.’
He tilted his head, his brows raised in question. ‘It saved you from a loveless marriage, and that has to be a good thing.’
She rolled his words through her brain, thinking about everything she’d lost, and with sudden clarity she realised she didn’t have a single regret about losing Anthony. But she had a suitcase of regrets about her future. She was damaged goods. Most men wanted their own biological child and POF had stolen her chance to give any man that.
Not Nick.
She immediately discarded the thought, not wanting to go there. That was just heartache on a stick. She wanted kids in her future and her infertility burned inside her, hot and painful every time she thought about it. But she didn’t want to talk about her infertility with Nick. He didn’t want children, he’d actively chosen infertility and he wouldn’t understand. No, they were at opposite ends of that spectrum with an almighty and unbreachable chasm between them.
She tossed her head and gave him a tight smile. ‘Anyway, that’s the past, it’s over and I’m in Port, working with kids and getting my fill that way.’
He squeezed her hand, his expression earnest. ‘You could do foster-care when you’ve finished your GP training.’
He was trying so hard to help, trying to make her feel better, and it tore shreds off her heart. Yes, she could do foster-care and it probably would be great, but it would also emphasise what she’d lost. Like most women, she wanted a man who loved her and a family, and she couldn’t ever have that.
Tears threatened, pricking the backs of her eyes, and she couldn’t stand there one more minute or she’d burst into tears or, worse, she’d throw herself back into his arms. Neither was a good idea and crying wasn’t a good look, especially after she’d already had one emotional melt-down tonight. ‘It’s something to think about but right now I need to think about the four a.m. round and so do you.’ She dropped her wooden ice-cream stick into the bin and regretfully but crucially pulled her hand out from under his. ‘See you out there.’
Nick watched her walk through the door—head erect, shoulders straight and hips swaying. The sexiest walk he’d ever seen, and she didn’t have a clue. Faulty goods, my eye. That lousy ex-fiancé had stolen her belief that she was a gorgeous and desirable woman and after all she’d been through the least she deserved was to get that back.
She needed to know that she was all woman, one hundred per cent deliciously hot, and he was just the man to show her. He smiled as anticipation shot through his veins. Planning this was going to be fun—executing it even better.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KIRBY checked her watch, stretched and smiled. Five to six on a Friday evening and time to head home. After the drama of the salmonella outbreak, the rest of the week had been blissfully tame medically speaking, with straightforward consultations and only one tourist coming to grief. He now had a white cast on his leg—a souvenir to remember Port by and a reminder of the night he’d over-indulged at the pub.
Somehow over the last few days she’d managed to regain her equilibrium and had done a reasonable job of faking an ‘Aren’t we good colleagues?’ persona with Nick. She hated it that she’d completely broken down in front of him and she knew that because of that one emotional outburst he now thought of her differently. She’d caught him in the act of a sideways glance a few times—he was probably panicking she’d break down again and was counting the days until the summer was over and he could get back to Melbourne and more sane company.
He’d never mentioned their conversation again but she kept revisiting the pain on his face when he spoke about his sister. She chewed her lip and sighed. Everyone had their own share of heartache.
Just keep moving forward one step at a time.
She quickly scribbled down a list of jobs for Monday, including a phone call to Melinda’s oncologist in Melbourne to get a treatment update. Then, gathering up her case histories and her bag, she headed out to Reception.
‘Here you go, Vicki, all signed, notated and ready for you.’ She dumped the folders onto the laminate counter.
‘Thanks, dear.’ Vicki’s brown eyes bored into her from behind purple-framed glasses. ‘So what have you got planned this evening?’
Kirby swallowed a sigh. Vicki asked her this question every Friday and never seemed satisfied with the answer. ‘I’m picking up a new book from the newsagent’s, grabbing a huge plate of seafood from the festival and then I’m going to sit on the deck, open a bottle of Barago merlot and watch the sunset over the ocean.’
And try not to think about Nick. Not think about how wonderful it had felt to be nestled against him, her head in the crook of his neck, his firm chest against hers…She pull
ed her attention back to Vicki, who had pursed her lips.
‘Drinking alone, dear, that’s not very wise.’
‘But it’s merlot so I can put the cork back in.’ Kirby plastered on a smile and scooted to a safer topic. ‘What are you doing this weekend?’
‘My nephew, the lawyer from Melbourne—the one I was telling you about—arrived yesterday and is staying for a few days.’ Vicki efficiently slotted the histories in the floor-to-ceiling filing cupboard.
‘That will be fun for you, having a bit of company.’ She knew how much Vicki missed her children.
The older woman nodded. ‘Yes, but he won’t want to spend all his time with his old aunt.’ A cunning smile twitched the corners of her mouth upward. ‘I’m a bit weary tonight and I’d really appreciate it if you took him to the jazz-and-seafood festival.’
Kirby tried not to groan audibly. Vicki had been very good to her and she didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but on the other hand she really didn’t want to spend her Friday evening entertaining her nephew, no matter how rich and gorgeous he was purported to be. Her mind trawled for the right combination of words to gently reject the suggestion but the creak of the front door opening interrupted her. Nick strode in, radiating vibrant good health with a broad smile on his handsome face to match.
An increasingly familiar surge of undisguised need immediately flared deep inside her and her buttocks tightened instinctively. He looked good. More than good—bronzed, toned and holding a toolkit, he looked liked her fantasy.
A well-known surfing-brand T-shirt caressed his broad chest and crisply ironed stone-coloured shorts clad his muscular legs, but her eyes zeroed in on his wet hair, which she noticed now had enough length to curl at the nape of his neck. He looked fresh, clean and sun-kissed and she realised he must have recently stepped out of a shower. A vision of Nick naked slammed into her, drying her mouth.
Nick raised the red metal box in his hand. ‘Vicki, I was on my way past and had my toolkit in the truck so I’ve fixed the wire door. It now closes properly and keeps the flies out, instead of inviting them into the waiting room.’
Vicki gave a cry of delight. ‘Nick, you’re wonderful. Talented and handy, and if I was thirty years younger, look out.’
Nick gave a deep rolling laugh, his eyes crinkling up with the ease of a man comfortable in his own skin. ‘You would have been far too much woman for me, Vicki.’
She chuckled. ‘Well, that’s right, I probably would have—I wore out Roger, bless him.’ She started pressing the buttons on the security pad. ‘So, Kirby, if you come with me now, I’ll introduce you to Andrew.’
Kirby thought she saw a ripple of tension cross Nick’s shoulders but she didn’t have time to wonder about that and it was probably just his muscles countering the weight of the toolbox. She so didn’t want to spend the evening with Andrew and desperate situations meant desperate measures.
Ignoring every lesson she’d learned at her mother’s knee, she prepared herself to lie. She’d make something up about a clinic problem and she fervently hoped Nick would just roll with it and not question her in front of Vicki. She’d apologise and explain it all to him later, after Vicki had left and she was off the hook from dating Andrew. ‘I’m really sorry, Vicki, but Nick didn’t just come to fix the wire door. I asked him to come in because—’
‘The fact is, Vicki, she wants me, not Andrew.’ Nick winked, his eyes sparkling with pure devilment. ‘She’s taking me to the festival.’
Kirby almost choked on the spot. His audacity was unbelievable and a barrage of indignant words poured into her mouth, preparing to unleash her wrath. But they immediately clagged against her tongue as she realised none of them could be spoken without giving her away. Her lie neatly corralled every word, leaving her completely exposed and at its mercy. At Nick’s mercy. What was he playing at?
Vicki’s grin almost split her face and she gave Kirby a knowing look, one that said, You’re a sly one but he’s as sexy as hell, so of course you want him. ‘Why didn’t you just say that you and Nick are an item instead of hiding behind that silly story about drinking alone?’
Oh, great, now she looked like a desperate alcoholic. ‘I—’
Nick slipped his free arm through Kirby’s, his fingers firmly entwining with hers. He tilted his head, giving Vicki a serious look. ‘We wanted to keep it quiet. You know what Port’s like.’
Kirby could feel his body vibrating with suppressed laughter and it took every ounce of control not to kick him. Although Vicki could keep patient confidentiality, when it came to relationships, she was Port’s biggest gossip. The moment her foot hit the outside step, this bit of news would roar through the town faster than a cyclone.
‘Absolutely, Nick, I understand completely.’ Vicki crossed the waiting room with a firm and decisive step and turned just as she reached the door. Tapping her nose with her forefinger, she beamed at them. ‘You two have a lovely time. Your secret is safe with me.’
The moment the door banged shut Nick’s hand tightened on Kirby’s. ‘Come on, we better get to this festival.’ A wolfish grin moved across his face. ‘After all, the entire town will be expecting us.’
She stared up at him, drawn by the look in his eye—laughter mixed with a simmering charisma. She should be furious with him, she should be vibrating with indignation at his highhandedness and she should be saying, No, I’m not coming to the festival with you. Instead, she followed him out the door, her brain stuck fast on the fact that the entire town would be assuming she was having sex with Nick Dennison while her body ached on the fact that she wasn’t.
The mellow sound of a saxophone drifted across the air and Kirby fell back on the picnic rug. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing.’
‘I’m surprised you managed that last plate of calamari.’ Nick grinned as he leaned over her, sipping his wine. ‘It’s wonderful to see a woman with a healthy appetite, although more of my veggies wouldn’t hurt.’
She gazed up him, taking in the way his thick chocolate-brown lashes brushed his cheeks, how his stubble creased along deep smile lines that converged into dimples, and how much younger he looked than he had a few weeks ago when she’d first met him. The last vestiges of his treatment had completely faded, leaving him more handsome than any man deserved to be.
He’d been attentive all evening in a casual way—slinging his arm across her shoulders as they’d wandered from stall to stall, feeding her samples of everything from prawns to oysters, and choosing the perfect local sauvignon blanc to match the delicious food. He’d made a point of holding her hand when they’d met the self-obsessed Andrew, and he’d teased her on and off all evening that she owed him big time for saving her from an evening of boredom.
Now he put his glass down and grabbed her hand. ‘Come on, you’ll feel better if you move.’
‘I don’t believe you.’ She groaned as she let him pull her to her feet, enjoying the way his other arm snaked around her waist, holding her close.
‘I wouldn’t lie to you.’ His eyes danced as he lowered his head and his voice rumbled against her ear. ‘And I promise you, I’ll make it worthwhile.’
Shimmering tingles raced from her head to her toes, streaking through her like wildfire and igniting everything in its wake until she quivered and she felt sure he would feel it.
‘Hello, Doctors, lovely evening for it.’
She looked up through dazed eyes to see Doug Reardon tipping his hat as he walked past arm in arm with his wife.
Nick laughed and waved. ‘A perfect evening for it.’ He turned back to face her, shooting her a deadpan look. ‘It’s a funny thing but the whole town has been giving us indulgent looks all night.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t imagine why.’ She broke away from him and started to walk, needing to move, driven by a need to leave the crowded foreshore park and get away from those knowing looks—looks that inferred something that didn’t exist and never would. She headed out along the pier road, suddenly desperate to be home
.
Nick fell easily into step with her. ‘They like to see a couple in love.’
She increased her pace. ‘We’re not in love.’
‘No, we’re not.’
His words relaxed her. They weren’t in love and the fact they both wanted totally different things out of life made them almost incompatible, but they laughed together and they were friends. Think friendship. A crazy laugh bounced around her head.
He stepped in closer so his arm touched hers and his heat soared through her. ‘But we are in lust.’
His husky voice filled with desire brought her to an abrupt halt. She swung around to face him, her hands gripping her hips as she desperately tried to keep some distance. ‘Speak for yourself.’
‘I am.’ His eyes, shaded by the fading light, flared with unconcealed desire. ‘You’re the sexiest woman I’ve met in a long time.’
Her heart hammered hard and fast as his sweet words rolled over her like honey. But she couldn’t listen to them—she’d learned that words counted for little and these ones had heartache written all over them. ‘You don’t get out very often, do you?’
‘I get out plenty.’ He trailed his finger down her cheek. ‘You’re gorgeous, you’re sexy and you’re driving me crazy.’
She wanted to slam her hands against her ears to drown out his beguiling voice. ‘This is crazy. We’re colleagues, we want different things.’ She started walking again with no clear direction, just letting her feet take her as her body buzzed with need and her brain raced with incoherent thoughts that tumbled chaotically over each other.
He quickly caught up with her, his voice insistent. ‘Pretending we’re just colleagues and friends is the crazy part. You want me as much as I want you.’
She strode along the road, hating it that she did want him so badly. Hating that he knew. Folding her arms across her chest, she forced herself to be the sensible one. ‘I didn’t know conceit was a tool of seduction. Is that how you’ve always got women to jump into bed with you?’
