by Sami Lee
“I’m not picking,” Mike answered, his jaw clamping as he took a seat on the edge of the opposite sofa, putting down his wine glass as though to keep from smashing it in his clenched hand. “I wouldn’t dare. It’s obvious from the library of books about the feeding and sleeping patterns of infants you have lining your bookcase that you’re forearmed with information.”
It would have been hard to miss the touch of derision in his comment. Eve eyed him levelly over the rim of her glass. “If you have something to say about my reliance on books by the experts, spit it out.”
“When you’ve got that look in your eye? I’m not sure I’d come out of that debate unscathed.”
Although his self-deprecating smile softened his words, Eve felt the slight affront hit her somewhere deep inside. “You make me sound like a harridan.” And why not? He seemed to bring out the argumentative side of her, and she wasn’t the best performer in social situations to begin with.
“Not a harridan. Just a tough cookie.”
He said it almost as if it were a compliment, and she supposed from anyone else it might have been. For some reason, from Mike the comment left her a little crestfallen. He clearly saw her more as an opposing force in the struggle of caring for Bailey than a woman with real feelings and any discernibly attractive qualities.
“I might take Bailey for his bath.” Eve set her empty wine glass aside and chastised herself. She didn’t want Mike to be attracted to her anyway.
“Already done. And if those aren’t his pyjamas he’s wearing, you change him. Dressing him is like trying to dress an octopus. Dinner will be in about thirty minutes.”
“I’ll organise his bottle and put him to bed, then.” She swept Bailey into her arms and stepped out of the room before she could examine the way she felt about Mike’s opinion of her as a woman any further.
Half an hour later, they ate the delicious fish and salad at the dining table, sharing fairly companionable conversation because they both made an effort to avoid the topics that had previously caused them to lock horns. Mike held her interest by relating tales of his overseas travels. He’d worked in the ski resorts of Canada, the hectic pace of London and, most recently, on the Greek Isle of Santorini, where he had entered into a partnership in a taverna with a Greek he’d met on his travels through France.
“That’s why I had to go back to Greece straight after the funeral,” Mike explained, his tone turning melancholy at the reference to his brother’s passing. “I had to sort out the business with George. He couldn’t come up with the money for my share of the taverna, so I helped him find another partner. And I guess I took some time to myself as well, to think about things. Derek’s death kind of knocked me for a loop. He always seemed so invincible.”
Eve smiled in understanding. “That’s how I always saw Jacinta as well. You can’t imagine what a shock it was, standing on that beach waiting for a sign of the skydive plane. I was all ready to point out the parachutes to Bailey when the company representative got a phone call. I could tell by the way his face paled that something terrible had happened.”
Recalling the sensation of dread, the way it had caused her stomach to plummet into barely controlled nausea, brought the feelings back anew, and she felt herself grow cold. She had thought she was getting over the shock of losing Jacinta, but perhaps the distraction of Bailey had just been a convenient method of pushing it aside. Even that day, she had pulled Bailey from his pram, hugging him to her as though to offer comfort when he couldn’t possibly have understood what was going on. He wasn’t the one who had needed comfort.
The touch of Mike’s hand on hers brought her back to the present with a start. His palm was callused, causing electric sensations to spark inside her as he gathered her softer, smaller hand in his where it rested on the table between them. His thumb bore a scar across the back, perhaps caused by a wayward kitchen knife. He caressed her knuckles and Eve could do no more than stare at his hand entwined with hers, unable to pull away.
“That must have been awful. I’m sorry you had to deal with it on your own. Maybe if I’d been here…”
If he’d been here, what? He’d have held her in his arms the way he had at the funeral? Remembering the way she’d fallen apart that day, Eve felt embarrassment flush through her. For something to say, to break the spell created by his perfectly innocent touch, she blurted, “I never thanked you … for taking care of me at the funeral.”
A slight tug of her hand was all it took; Mike let it go and leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. You probably needed to be with your parents, and instead you were stuck with me, blubbering all over you.”
“My parents had each other. You didn’t have anyone.”
Story of my life, Eve thought, instantly hating the moment of self-pity, hating even more the sympathy his observation hinted at. “Don’t bother feeling sorry for me. I’m quite used to handling things on my own.”
“I figured that … but it doesn’t need to be that way.”
Oh, little did he know. It had always needed to be that way … her childhood having been the way it was. Daughter to a neglectful mother and a man who had departed the scene at the first knowledge of her pregnancy, Eve had learned early on not to depend on anyone else for anything—least of all for emotional solace. Recalling the way she had broken down in Mike’s arms was mortifying.
“You don’t really know anything about me or what I need,” she fired, discomfiture making her sound peevish, even to herself.
“I know you’ve had it tough. I know you’ve been on your own a long time.”
Eve felt herself grow even colder beneath her skin, despite the relative warmth of the March evening. “What makes you say that?”
“Something Jacinta said to me a while back, before the wedding.” Mike shrugged as though it was of no consequence that he and her best friend had discussed the sad state of her existence behind her back. “She told me you hadn’t been dealt an easy hand in life, and that I should behave myself with you or she’d, and I quote, ‘knock that charm-the-girls smile right off my face’.”
Mike refrained from telling Eve what else Jacinta had said. ‘Eve’s not a meaningless fling type of girl, Mike Wilcox. If you start that flirty stuff with her, you’d better mean it. If you don’t, just leave her the hell alone.’
Jacinta need not have bothered with the warning. At the time, the last thing on Mike’s mind was pursuing Eve. He’d never been so desperate for a date that he needed to go for every bridesmaid he ever saw—even one who had looked coolly elegant and beautiful in emerald green satin and had appeared as frostily composed as the ice sculpture on the buffet table. He recalled thinking idly that it might be fun to plant a kiss on her just to shake her up.
Now Jacinta’s remembered admonition sent a guilty tingle up his spine because he had been battling the disturbing urge to flirt with Eve all night, to touch her in some way just to feel her flesh against his. He had offered his hand a moment ago as a gesture of comfort, but also because it had been an excuse to touch her, to offer her something she seemed to be missing on her emotional island. Human contact.
He hadn’t counted on the surge of electricity—the strength of the physical interest that welled in him. She hadn’t changed from her work attire, but had shucked her jacket before dinner. The pale blue material of her blouse had a slight sheen to it in the ambient light cast by the nearby lamp, making him wonder if it was silky to the touch. The shirt’s top two buttons were undone, revealing only a modest amount of skin below her throat. His gaze kept straying to that third button, his mind’s eye picturing what he might see if it were released as well. The merest suggestion of cleavage, of lace-edged undergarments?
What in hell was going on with him? Why was he thinking about Eve’s underwear, for Pete’s sake?
“Well, I’m glad to see you kept your word. Why wouldn’t you?”
By the over-bright, flustered way she said it, Mike could tell she
wasn’t fishing for compliments. For reasons he didn’t stop to examine, he gave her one anyway. “You can’t be unaware that you’re an attractive woman,” he said, wondering if indeed she was as unaware of her unique appeal as she seemed to be. That ethereal beauty, the keen intelligence, were at times mesmerising. Not to him, Mike assured himself, conveniently ignoring the fact he’d been having way too much trouble keeping his eyes off her all night. “It makes me wonder why some guy hasn’t snapped you up yet.”
“You say snapped me up like I’m sitting on a shelf somewhere. For your information, I don’t think I’ll ever get married.”
“Well, that’s something we have in common.” Mike swirled the remaining wine in his glass before downing it in one gulp. “I like my freedom too much. What’s your excuse?”
“As you’ve no doubt noticed,” she told him, “I like to do things my own way. I guess that’s a bit off-putting for a lot of men.”
“You never know. Your luck might change.”
“I’m not looking for it to,” Eve insisted.
“You plan to raise Bailey all by yourself for the next twenty years or so?”
“Whatever you might think, I think I’ll do okay at it.” Eve felt her scalp prickle at all she left out of that comment. Like the moments of sheer panic she experienced, thinking she just wasn’t good enough to replace Jacinta. Like the days when she dragged herself and Bailey home, praying he would go to sleep easily so she could have a moment’s peace, only to be swiftly besieged by guilt at the thought … like when she was so tired she felt that the sugar hit of chocolate and routine were the only things moving her from day to day. “And my mother raised me on her own … at least until I was twelve. If she can do it, I can.” And I’ll do better Bailey, she promised silently. I swear I’ll do better than she did.
“I think you’re doing better than okay, Eve, especially under the circumstances, but there have to be times you want to share the load.”
Eve saw the genuine concern in his eyes. She felt his off-hand confidence in her parenting ability sooth her anxiety like a balm, easing the tension she carried inside. Perhaps it was better when Mike was being arrogant and flirtatious and impossibly male. His concern and compassion made her wish, for a frightening moment, that she could lean on him.
Not wanting him to see how he had affected her, Eve took a leaf out of Mike’s book and made light of things. “If you suggest a marriage of convenience between us, I’ll have to slap you.”
His laughter bordered on the uproarious. “Of all the things I might suggest happen between us, Eve,” he said, shaking his head. “Marriage is surely not one of them.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said, telling herself that was not anguish she felt, just a jab to the ego. What woman wants to hear a man laugh so riotously at the idea of marrying her?
And she did not want to examine what he might have meant by that ‘of all the things I might suggest happen between us’ comment. Nothing was going to happen between them, full stop.
So why was she still sitting here? Their plates had long been emptied, their wine consumed. With surprise, Eve realised the bottle Mike had opened was nearly empty. She shouldn’t have had that second glass. If she hadn’t, she never would have ended up revealing her thoughts on marriage, that was certain. She would never have allowed the conversation to broach the personal at all.
She pushed back her chair. “I’ll do the dishes.”
Mike stood with her and grabbed her plate before she could. “I can do that.”
“Mike, you’ve done enough. You must be exhausted.”
“Why don’t we both do it and get it over with?”
Eve’s jaw dropped on a gasp. “What?”
He looked puzzled for a moment before the meaning of her reaction sank in. He laughed softly. “I meant the dishes, Eve. Surely you didn’t think I meant—”
“Of course not!” Dipping her head, Eve collected the wine glasses and hurried them over to the sink. She was sure she was blushing like a schoolgirl, belying her denial that she had thought he was talking about something infinitely more intimate than doing dishes. “I … I was just so surprised to know a man who cooks and washes up.”
Mike’s barely suppressed laughter told her he didn’t believe a word of her half-hearted denial, but to her relief he dropped the subject, picking up a tea towel as she began filling the sink with hot sudsy water. Perhaps he was more of a gentleman than she had first given him credit for.
She was definitely going to have to stop finding appealing aspects to Mike’s character.
They completed the chore in cooperative silence, and Eve breathed a sigh of relief when it was done. Snapping off the rubber gloves, she stepped back, pushing a wayward strand of hair back from her face and announcing, “I might head off to bed.”
“Eve, wait,” Mike stopped her as she turned to go. He gestured toward her face. “You have a—Wait there.”
Before she could move, he had stepped forward, his body heat engulfing her. Eve held her breath as he reached up and brushed his knuckles over her cheek, his touch gentle yet searing on her skin. Heart hammering, she stammered, “Mike … I … I don’t think we should…”
Her words trailed off as he held up his fingers, a dollop of dishwashing suds stuck to the tips. “You had sudsy stuff on your face.”
“Oh.”
Move away, Eve ordered her frozen legs. Break eye contact, she told her useless brain. But she did neither of those things, and neither did Mike.
“What were you going to say?” he asked softly. “What shouldn’t we do?”
Eve crossed her arms over her chest; her only defence until her legs would cooperate. “I think you know,” she told him, angry that he wanted her to be the one to say it. “I thought you were going to kiss me. Ha, ha. Let’s all laugh at silly Eve.”
“You’re not silly, Eve. You’re not wrong.” The dark heat in his green eyes made her feel like something on the stove he had just put on to simmer. “I know what I said yesterday about not making a pass, but the fact is, I do want to kiss you.”
Her breath stilled again. The impulse to jump at the opportunity made her blurt in desperation, “You can’t!”
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb moving ever so slowly over her bottom lip as it trembled helplessly beneath his touch. His voice was husky, barely audible. “Why not?”
Chapter 4
Why not?
For a moment, Eve was lost in his gaze, her heart trapped like a butterfly in a glass jar. Why not? She asked herself again, searching madly for the reasons that had been so clear in her mind moments ago. He continued stroking her lip, his eyes fixed to the spot, his touch causing tremors to course through her body.
It was too much. He was too much. Too magnetic, too tempting, his closeness too overwhelming, so that she thought for a moment she would be sucked into him. That she would give into the heat of the moment. Why now? she asked herself, when it had been so many long years since she had felt a spark of interest in any man? Why him, when he was the worst possible man to spark that interest? The kind of man who would kiss a woman out of sheer, idle curiosity … who’d have her eating out of the palm of his hand simply because he could.
She couldn’t afford to be that woman, no matter the momentary temptation. She would be forever tied to him in some way because of Bailey. Since he wasn’t going to be the one to do it, someone had to make sure that relationship didn’t get more complicated than it already was.
“I’m not some idle curiosity you can satisfy Mike,” she told him when she at last found her voice, her indignation. “I’m not another one of your groupies eager to give you whatever you want.”
A fog seemed to clear from his expression. His hand dropped away from her face, his eyes narrowing. “That’s not the first time you’ve insinuated that I have a conga line of women dancing through my life. What makes you assume that?”
“It just seems to fit.” She lifted a shoulder, more at ease now that
some distance had been put between them. “You said yourself you don’t want to get married. And Jacinta said—”
“Ah,” he interrupted her, a derisive twist to his lips. “Jacinta said something like that. No doubt after my brother had told her a bunch of exaggerated stories.”
“He used to say you didn’t take things too seriously, that’s all. I had the impression—”
“I don’t think I care too much for your impressions.” He moved away, stuffing his hands in his back pockets. “I never cared much for my brother’s, come to think of it. Not when he considered my career choice light-weight, my manner with women philandering. Certainly not when he apparently decided I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, care for his son in the event he was no longer around to do so.”
His words jolted her. With a sinking feeling, Eve realised how incredibly insensitive she had been. Mike had every right to feel slighted that Derek had agreed to assign guardianship of their son to someone outside his family rather than to his own brother. She had thought only of how their decision affected her, never of how it might have impacted Mike.
Realising how self-absorbed she’d been, Eve felt about two feet tall. “I’m sorry, Mike,” she said, “I’m so sorry I never thought about things like that. It’s just that Jacinta and I were so close. I considered her the sister I never had, and I think she felt the same way about me. She wouldn’t have meant her decision as a mark against you, I’m sure of it.”
He looked at her over his shoulder, and from his expression, Eve knew he wasn’t as sure of that as she was, but he said, “It doesn’t matter. I meant what I said earlier—you’re doing a good job with Bailey.” He grinned disarmingly, making Eve almost believe he had forgotten altogether the tense emotion of moments ago. “Derek was right about one thing—I never did take things as seriously as he did. Nor as seriously as you do, for that matter.”
