by Robyn Grady
He stared as if her skin had turned purple. ‘What’s not to be relieved about?’
She held her chin firm. ‘You have no empathy at all, do you?’
He frowned, genuinely puzzled. ‘Empathy over what?’
Did she truly expect him to understand? To anyone who hadn’t been in her place, it mightn’t sound like much—A bit late? Get over it. But as Ben had once said…
‘Guess you had to be there.’
His study of her cut her to the quick. ‘Oh, I’ve been there. I was the product of an unplanned pregnancy, remember?’
Yes, she remembered, and she sympathised. But that was his experience. This had been hers.
She turned more towards him, needing to get it off her chest and for him to understand even a little.
‘When I realised I was late, I was terrified. Then, as more days passed and the more I thought it over, I grew used to the idea and…’ Remembered warmth filtered through her. She confessed, ‘Well, I got excited. At the same time I felt this enormous crush of responsibility land on my shoulders. I bought a home pregnancy kit. Half of me wanted to know for sure, the other half simply didn’t believe it.’
‘The test was negative?’ Her nod brought another groan of relief. ‘Then that was it.’
She quashed her irritation. ‘No, that wasn’t it, because by that time I’d visualised the baby. The colour of his hair. How healthy she’d be. And I started to think about names, furniture—even schools. Once all those questions had done a few cycles, I was already committed to something that was physically half the size of a pea but that would grow into a baby.’ Her baby.
She understood so well now.
When a woman had a child, that little person became their mother’s number one priority. Women sacrificed. It was called ‘maternal instinct’. Men didn’t have it. They had ‘slay and drag home the dinosaur’ instinct; the human race was biologically designed that way for the survival of the species. He hunted, she nursed.
Her own mother had sacrificed. Anita had done what was needed in order to keep the family intact, which had meant rescuing her husband and his crumpling business, borrowing money that had never been repaid, then stepping away when Rodney had been able to capably take over. Her mother had never been thanked or acknowledged for any of it. In fact, as director of PLM, Rodney had had control over the funds, not Anita.
Even if Ben had been displeased at the ‘baby situation’, she’d known he would provide for them; she wouldn’t need financial independence. But Celeste wanted it.
In these past days it had become crystal-clear how impotent her mother had felt the night she’d cried at Celeste’s bedside. Powerless, defeated, committed to a man who might have respected her as a wife and mother, was happy to take money when she offered it, but resented his clever wife’s threat to his masculinity. When Anita had died, she’d left her daughter that legacy.
Celeste never wanted to be ‘looked after’.
She chewed her nail.
Ironic that Ben should have control of PLM now.
His voice deepened. ‘Celeste, just so we’re straight, I may not be ready for fatherhood, but there’s no question that I would acknowledge my own child.’
She nodded. ‘I know.’
He blinked at the floor and after a moment reached to hold her hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
Her heart squeezed. She’d needed that.
She half shrugged. ‘You didn’t know.’
‘But I was still responsible.’
Taking in his troubled face, she worried that she should have kept the false alarm to herself, but a bigger part of her was glad she hadn’t. More often than not, a man didn’t get to hear or appreciate the fear and doubt, or perhaps happiness and sense of purpose that followed a missed period; if Ben held such strong beliefs about parenthood he’d needed to hear it as much as she’d needed to share.
He kissed her hand. ‘Feeling better about it now?’
She nodded, then thought more. ‘Although, you’ll probably think I’m silly, but the idea of going to Suzanne’s baby shower next weekend has been driving me mad.’
‘You’re not looking forward to it?’
‘She’s a nice lady. I’m happy for her. The day’s just going to be…awkward.’ Because of how raw she felt over her own pregnancy misdiagnosis. Because the day would underpin the sense that she and Anita had been superseded.
‘Would it help if I came along?’
She let his words sink in and brightened. ‘You’d do that?’
He offered a crooked grin. ‘As long as I don’t have to diaper any dolls.’
She laughed. ‘I’m sure we won’t rope you in.’
His smile slowly faded. ‘You want me to drive you home now?’
She considered it. Then, feeling stronger than she had in weeks, she leaned back against the bracket of his arm available behind her and said, ‘Maybe soon.’
CHAPTER TEN
AS THEY drove to her father’s house the following Saturday Celeste drank in Ben’s classic profile. Straight nose, strong bristled jaw, black hair and open white collar rumpling against the late summer breeze. Enthralled, she watched his tanned hands negotiate the sports wheel with such effortless precision.
Those hands worked magic.
However, after his massage and their discussion last weekend, she and Ben hadn’t made love. He’d remained remarkably well behaved. They’d talked some more, then he’d driven her home. She’d thought constantly about him since. Although he’d started off commitment-phobic-minded when she’d confided in him about her almost pregnant dilemma, ultimately he seemed to appreciate at least some of what she’d gone through.
Better yet, he’d called every day this week, but hadn’t hounded her. Because her story had scared him into holding back or because he’d discovered a new respect for her and their relationship, she couldn’t be certain. Perhaps the shock idea of fatherhood had planted a positive and patient seed in his mind. Heck, he was here with her now, helping her to face this awkward day, wasn’t he? Dared she hope?
Could Ben Scott be her Mr Right after all?
Discovering her study of him, he reached to clasp her hand. ‘It’ll be good to catch up with Rodney and give him an update on that meeting a couple of weeks back. I was on location yesterday. Helped dig a few post holes.’ He smiled to himself. ‘I still get a kick out of getting my hands dirty.’
Celeste clenched her teeth.
There it was…the stab she felt whenever he mentioned her family—
Sorry. What had been her family’s company.
She looked away. ‘I’m sure he’ll be interested.’
Ben held her hand tighter as if he’d realised and regretted that, under the circumstances, his comment might have bit.
Facing her father today—with PLM sold and celebrating the baby’s imminent arrival—seemed to sweep the past even farther behind them. Sometimes it was as if her mother—and that life—had never existed. She didn’t blame Suzanne and she didn’t want to blame her father, but sometimes…Well, sometimes it just plain hurt.
‘You look all tight.’ With one hand on the wheel, he massaged the sensitive sweep of her nearest shoulder. He grunted. ‘Big knot right there.’ His therapeutic yet sensual rub travelled up the back of her neck. ‘How’s that feel?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Like I want you to do that to the rest of me.’
Her eyes sprang open.
Had she said that aloud?
‘Careful,’ he growled. ‘I might pull over.’
Her skin grew hot at the thought. She was playing with fire. But maybe if she was very lucky she wouldn’t end up being burned. Maybe this time instead of saying goodbye, she would finally find in Ben a wonderful warmth as well as a blistering passion.
His hand returned to the wheel as he turned into her father’s street. ‘If this is too hard, we don’t have to go.’
She sat straighter. Suzanne had invited them for dinner, but Celeste knew it was wise not to pus
h herself. People under stress sometimes said and did things they lived to regret. ‘I said I’d go to the baby shower. We can say we have tickets to a play tonight.’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘Give me the nod when you’re ready to leave.’
He pulled the Merc into the long driveway and Clancy and Matilda belted out from around the house. When Ben opened her car door, both dogs dropped their tennis balls at her feet.
Laughing, she ruffled their heads and picked up Clancy’s ball. ‘Wanna play, boy?’
The brown poodle wagged his tail so hard, he almost fell over.
She cast back, threw the ball and Clancy raced off. Matilda pranced around. When Celeste threw the second ball, it sailed through the air and lodged atop a bushy grevillea.
While Celeste cursed under her breath, Ben jogged off. ‘I’ll get it.’
Celeste waited for either her father to appear from the house or Ben to reappear from behind the bush. When neither showed up, she strolled off to see if she could help with the ball. Two pairs of eyes were better than one.
Ben was on his knees, searching under the bush. Matilda was sniffing and searching beside him.
Celeste examined the surrounding ground. ‘Need any help?’
Ben’s arms swept under the leaves. ‘The ball’s not stuck up the top. I figure it must have dropped.’
Her gaze lifted to the bush. Reaching into a branch, she pulled out the ball. ‘Had your eyes tested lately?’
He peered up, frowned and grunted. ‘Lucky find.’
She laughed. ‘If you say so.’
His eyes flashed, then he caught her around the calves. She shrieked as she fell. Like a star footballer, he dived, rolled and somehow saved her from hitting the ground. With her lying on top of him—his arms locked around her trunk—he rolled again until she was pinned beneath him. He playfully manacled her hands either side of her head.
‘Anything you want to say now, Miss Wise Guy?’
She found her breath. ‘I hear horn-rimmed glasses are back.’
He chuckled. ‘My eyes are just fine.’ He squeezed her wrists. ‘And they like what they see.’
She counted her heartbeats. ‘What do they see?’
‘Someone very special.’ His gaze deepened. ‘Someone I can’t get out of my mind.’
Someone he’d want to marry?
His gaze narrowed as if he’d read her thoughts. Then he pushed up and helped her to her feet. ‘We’re expected. You’d better brush the grass off your skirt or tongues will wag.’
As they dusted off and walked back to the house Celeste couldn’t help but wonder if she was a fool for setting herself up so easily for Ben’s games. Or was she right in believing that since last weekend they’d finally made a real connection? That they were closer than they’d ever been to understanding each other?
Rodney descended the wide porch steps and greeted them. Her father brushed a kiss against her cheek, then took in her simple apricot to-the-ankles dress, her flowing hair.
‘You look great, sweetheart.’ He acknowledged Ben; Celeste had said he’d be joining her. ‘Good to see you again, son.’
Ben took her father’s hand. ‘Rodney.’
‘Hope you’re taking care of my daughter as well as you’re taking care of my business.’
Celeste cringed. Lord, she felt like a chattel. If ghosts existed—if her mother could hear this conversation—
Her father’s next words broke her train of thought. ‘Suzanne’s inside with her friends, unwrapping gifts and talking baby talk.’ His gaze softened. ‘She’s pleased you came today.’
Celeste couldn’t seem to fall over either side of the fence. Being here under these circumstances was like selling out her mother’s memory, and yet the child Suzanne carried deserved a sister, just as Celeste deserved a sibling. No matter how much days like this hurt, she couldn’t turn her back on that relationship.
Inside, hellos were exchanged between Celeste, Ben and half a dozen ogling women, who were clearly enamoured with his masculine looks and physique. When Suzanne enquired, Celeste replied that her handbag store was doing a roaring trade and her florist concern—Star Arrangements—was a week away from opening its doors. When a lady in a pink silk lounge suit suggested she bring out the food, Celeste offered instead. Rodney had taken a phone call, so Ben said he would help.
In the kitchen, he collected a silver tray of ribbon sandwiches.
An image bloomed in her mind and, grinning, Celeste leant against the counter. ‘What’s the bet those women would love to see you serve them minus your shirt.’
He looked surprised, then gave her a devilish grin. ‘I’m only available for private shows.’
As she remembered the blood-pumping feel of his bare, hot chest against her flesh her heart began to race. She fought the impulse to gravitate towards him and shook her head instead. ‘Not today.’
‘How about tonight?’
She wouldn’t lie to herself and say she wasn’t interested. And whether it was emotional suicide or not, she couldn’t help but have some fun with his quip.
As he sauntered nearer she made an observation. ‘You look hungry. Here. Have some dip.’ She shoved a cracker in his mouth.
The surprise faded from his face as he chewed and mumbled, ‘Thank you. Delicious.’ He set down his tray. ‘Now perhaps I could tempt you with something tasty. Do you prefer spicy—’ he indicated fatty Mexican meatballs ‘—or sweet?’ Scones and cream.
Smothering a grin, she turned to collect her own tray. ‘I like a healthy diet.’
He caught her waist. ‘I like you.’
As his mouth hovered close to hers the air hummed and throbbed between them. It was all she could do not to succumb to temptation and allow herself to be kissed. Every particle of her screamed out to give in.
But it wasn’t the time or the place.
More than that…was it wise?
Summoning her will power, she ducked under his arm and scooped up her tray. ‘Suzanne would like to start her shower.’
After delivering his tray, Ben bowed off and joined Rodney in his study. Gathering herself after their steamy interlude in the kitchen, Celeste sat next to a chatty lady on the twin couch and watched Suzanne fawn over beautifully crafted matinee jackets, cot mobiles, rattles, baby’s first fine bone china…
When Suzanne unwrapped Celeste’s gift, her eyes filled. Overcome, she moved closer. Celeste stood so she could accept her stepmother’s hug and kiss.
‘It’s a perfect gift,’ Suzanne, smelling of ‘Joy’, murmured at her ear. ‘Thank you.’
Pleased that she liked it, Celeste showed her the bag’s many compartments. ‘It might look like a big teddy bear but it’s very practical. The head fits all your bottle needs, the tummy is for diapers. Its back pouch is for lotions and such. The front pouch for food.’
‘Where did you get it?’ Miss Chatty with the black bob asked over her Royal Doulton cup.
‘I designed it and had a seamstress do the work.’ She indicated the bear’s tummy. ‘See. Celeste’s.’ Then a trademark silver star.
As the women spoke up, each desperate to make an order, without warning, Celeste’s throat constricted. She’d thought of this design during that week.
The test had shown she wasn’t pregnant. It was silly to be upset. It was only this environment—clucky women, some of them pregnant—that had brought all those empty emotions back home.
Suzanne held the teddy baby bag to her belly. ‘It’s a wonderful gift. I’d always wanted children. I’m so happy it’s happened now and she’ll have such a special sister.’
Suzanne was being genuinely kind, but right now Celeste felt as if she might suffocate.
Mrs Perfectly Poised with the blonde chignon bit into a jam and cream scone and licked her thumb. ‘Did you bake this, Suzanne? Your scones are always lighter than air.’
‘It’s all in the oven temperature.’ Suzanne crossed to retrieve her cup from a polished timber trolley. She exercised her back a
nd her pregnant tummy stuck out more. ‘It needs to be very hot.’
Celeste raised her brows. Her mother had taught her nothing about cooking. Instead she’d passed on her love for watercolours and horse riding. Celeste remembered her father being cross one morning when he’d needed to iron his own shirt. Had that been after Anita had acquired that loan from Grandpa, or a night when she’d been up until three stringing together strategies to pull PLM out of the hole her husband had dug?
Suzanne wouldn’t need to iron any shirts. Those struggles were over, fought and won by another.
Brushing back her hair, Celeste tried to breathe. She needed air. Or, more simply, she needed to get out of here.
Ben materialised at the right moment, looking darkly attractive and capable as ever. She begged him with her eyes.
He checked the time and commented to Rodney, who was a step behind, ‘We must be going. Tickets to the theatre.’
He mentioned the name of the play and all the women swooned. They said goodbye on the porch and everyone, including Miss Chatty and Mrs Poise, waved them off.
When they were a mile down the road, Ben pulled over. He ratcheted up the handbrake, cupped his palm around her nape and dragged her close. His kiss had the detonating accuracy of a precision missile. It left her completely shattered and buzzing with a high-powered sexual need as well as a promise of what was yet to come…if she were brave or stupid enough to accept.
Too soon, his lips left hers. He growled in his throat. ‘I’ve been dying to do that all day.’
She wouldn’t admit that she’d been just as desperate. Her body felt alight with sizzling want and need. What would happen when they reached home? Probably not much talking. But the same question haunted her. As an affirmed bachelor, would Ben ever want more from her than casual companionship and sex?
Ben released her and, after checking the rear view mirror, pulled back out onto the deserted road. After a few moments he asked, ‘Did you have a nice time?’
She conceded, ‘It wasn’t all bad.’
