The Pregnancy Discovery

by Barbara Hannay

  His tongue traced a seductive line between her lips and they drifted open. And then his lips and tongue began to explore her mouth at a teasing, leisurely pace, and Meg wondered how such an easy, slow touch could ignite such a wild and violent longing. She was helpless to prevent herself from melting against him.

  Dazed, with a drowsy, heated hunger, she threw her arms around Sam’s neck and dragged him closer. She clung to him, craving more. ‘Please, forget about rules.’

  The shudder she felt in his strong frame and the responding clamour of her own body shocked her. An instant later, his kiss became urgent, deep and intensely intimate. The same shocking heat and wildness that she’d felt on the dance floor surged through Meg again.

  She wasn’t sure what excited her more—her own wild sensations or Sam’s obvious delight in her. He began a lingering discovery of her bare back, playing with the lacing as he went.

  Her breathing grew more and more ragged as his hands trailed slowly up to her shoulders. Tucking his thumbs under the tiny straps, he slipped them from her shoulders, before he settled his hands lower, cupping her breasts.

  Meg shivered with delectable suspense and he whispered, ‘You’re so beautiful—just beautiful.’

  Her body hummed with exquisite anticipation…while her fevered imagination raced ahead. And she could see the next few moments unfurling…herself and Sam shedding their clothes…until skin touched to skin.

  She sizzled at the thought.

  Except.

  Except…other thoughts crept into her mind…annoying, sensible thoughts.

  This man was famous in Seattle as a love-’em-and-leave-’em bachelor. Could she, should she trust him with her body?

  Another fleeting misgiving flashed into Meg’s mind. Her father had been too reserved to discuss romance, but she suspected that if her mother had lived to talk of such things she would have warned Meg about the folly of falling in love and making love all on the same evening.

  Sam must have sensed her hesitation. He pulled back a little. ‘You OK?’ he whispered against her cheek.

  Suddenly nervous, she whispered. ‘I—I don’t know.’

  His hands stilled and, for a moment, he simply held her gently. ‘I can’t believe how I feel about you,’ he murmured softly, close to her ear.

  ‘What way would that be?’ she had to ask, her heart thumping wildly.

  Gently he settled her shoulder straps back in place and, cradling her face with his hands, he looked deep into her eyes. ‘Like…like I’ve found something I didn’t know I was searching for. But—’

  Meg pressed her fingers to his lips. ‘Don’t say any more,’ she breathed. ‘That’s scary.’

  He leaned back a little, studying her face carefully. ‘Scary nice or scary scary?’

  ‘Scary amazing,’ she whispered. ‘It’s exactly how I feel about you.’

  He let out a rush of breath and gathered her close again. ‘Oh, Nutmeg,’ he said softly, a husky tremor in his voice. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Nutmeg?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a name that sounds just right for a woman who has a touch of spice that makes her incredibly delicious.’

  Her lips wavered into a shaky smile.

  For a minute they stood close, their hearts pounding against each other’s chest.

  ‘This is going to happen, Meg. We both know that. But there’s no need to rush. Am I rushing you?’

  Meg couldn’t answer. She was shaking and she had no idea what to say.

  But a sudden vision of the distant future seized her! Maybe one day, when she was a little old lady, she would think about finding the bottle and she would remember Sam Kirby and she would wonder…

  Sam’s fingers were gently massaging the nape of her neck. She looked up into his face and saw his obvious desire warring with such a tender concern for her that her heart sang. He cared. Why had she ever doubted? She loved this man.

  ‘Sam, you’re not rushing me,’ she told him.

  ‘You’re sure?’ His voice sounded raspy.

  The next moment, his strong arms began to enfold her once more and she knew with a beautiful certainty that this was the one place in the world she wanted to be. Sam made her feel vibrantly thrillingly alive.

  She nodded against his chest. ‘I’m sure,’ she whispered.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, he lowered his head once more and again his lips began to work their heated magic, travelling on a sensual, mind-numbing journey, exploring her neck and then her ear and finally her mouth.

  All doubts vaporised.

  ‘I want you to stay,’ she whispered.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SAM woke first, just as the sun broke through the overhead trees and sent dappled light through the filmy curtains. Beside him, Meg lay with her hair tumbling over her face and one arm curled to hug her pillow. His heart swelled as he thought of the night they’d shared.

  Carefully, he brushed her hair, soft as corn silk, away from her face so he could see the delicate outline of her profile against the snowy pillow. The urge to kiss her awake, to take her in his arms and make love to her again was overpowering.

  But he resisted the impulse. Who knew where the media mafia were hanging out, or what sordid story they would concoct? To be fair to Meg, he should leave now—quickly and discreetly—before the resort workers were up and about.

  He eased himself off the bed and dressed without making a sound. In bare feet, he padded out into her small living area. He looked around curiously, hungry for details that would tell him more about Meg.

  Usually he was careful to retain a healthy ignorance about the domestic details of his women friends. As a confirmed bachelor, he’d found it safer that way. Women had an annoying habit of quickly jumping to the wrong conclusions if a guy showed interest in their day-to-day lives.

  But Meg made him feel both incredibly curious and dangerously reckless. Right now, he didn’t care what conclusions she came to. They were probably on the right track.

  Not that this simple, tidy cabin, combining a neat little kitchen with a dining and sitting area, gave too many clues about Meg. The bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter held the usual healthy varieties. A cluster of spice bottles stood beside the stove.

  Everything seemed very orderly, but the cottage had a temporary feel about it, as if Meg had brought few of her personal possessions with her. The only thing remotely out of place was a half-completed jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table.

  He smiled. Meg probably collected a library of books, games and puzzles to keep less active guests entertained. This puzzle was of a painting by the ancient Italian master, Botticelli. It was called La Primavera. Spring.

  Sam’s smile lingered. The beautiful woman in the puzzle was dressed in a soft gauzy gown covered in flowers. She had a face like Meg’s, sweet and slightly serious. Her hair was long and fair and her beautiful eyes were an indeterminate colour that might have been green, or grey or…blue? She reminded him so much of Meg that he almost headed back to the bedroom.

  He spotted the piece of puzzle that depicted the spring maiden’s bare pink foot and, picking it up, he fitted it into place.

  Then he released his breath on a weary, drawn out sigh. If only his life could be as simple as that. Could it really be just a matter of finding the puzzle pieces and slotting them together? He’d tried to reassure himself that when this letter was handed over, everything would fall into place neatly. Kirby & Son’s holdings would be safe and he could start planning a future.

  He wanted to give a good deal of thought to his future.

  Sitting on Meg’s rattan sofa, he pulled on his socks and shoes, then quietly let himself out by the back door and made his way, as unobtrusively as possible, back to his own bungalow.

  He’d showered and changed, and eaten breakfast from a tray delivered to his door when the phone rang. Draining the last of his coffee, he snatched up the receiver. ‘Sam Kirby.’

  ‘Good morning, Sam.’

  Th
e sound of Meg’s voice unleashed a hot yearning, catching him unawares. He took a deep breath. ‘How are you this morning, Nutmeg?’

  ‘Fine—wonderful.’ she purred the words. ‘And you?’

  ‘Missing you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I miss you, too.’

  ‘I didn’t want to stir up trouble by hanging around at your place this morning.’

  ‘I realised that. Thanks. Have you seen this morning’s paper?’

  Sam groaned and dragged stiff fingers through his hair as he thought of the possibilities. ‘Not yet. I take it you have?’

  ‘Yes. It’s not as bad as I thought it might be, although now they’re tagging this story as “Love in a bottle”.’

  ‘Sounds like an ad for alcohol or something.’

  ‘There’s another photo of us at the party in an embarrassing clinch.’ After a pause she added, ‘I hope you don’t mind, Sam.’

  Hearing the tension vibrating in her voice, Sam frowned. ‘How do you feel about it?’

  ‘I’m not too bothered.’

  ‘You sound bothered.’

  ‘That’s—that’s because of something else that’s come up. A couple of minutes ago I had a phone call from a little old lady.’

  He felt instantly defensive. His hand gripped the phone more tightly. ‘Don’t tell me someone is giving you a lecture about your wicked ways?’

  ‘No, Sam, it’s probably worse than that.’

  ‘How?’ he snapped.

  ‘She’s claiming that she’s Tom Kirby’s wife and that the letter in the bottle is for her.’

  Oh, God! Sam’s heart thudded. He slumped against the wall beside him. ‘Who the hell is this person?’

  ‘Her name is Dolly Kirby. She lives on the mainland and she says she met and married Tom when he was based in this district during the war.’

  Sweat was breaking out all over Sam. Dolly Kirby? Under his breath, he cursed and he rubbed the back of his hand over his damp forehead. ‘I don’t believe it.’ He groaned. ‘It can’t be true. It can’t be. Tom Kirby was already married to my grandmother before he left for the war. My grandmother was already pregnant with my father.’

  ‘I agree this is really weird,’ Meg admitted. ‘Dolly doesn’t want to talk to the papers,’ she added gently, as if to calm him. ‘She wanted to talk to me first. To us, actually.’

  Sam closed his eyes and tried to think clearly, rationally. The fact that this woman didn’t want to run to the press with her story had to be a good thing, didn’t it? But hell! What on earth was going on here?

  Meg spoke again. ‘She sounds very sweet.’

  ‘Does she, now?’ he replied slowly as, out of nowhere, a pack of nasty suspicions raised their ugly, yapping heads. Just when he thought he had this business safely in hand, a new problem emerged. ‘It sounds fishy to me.’

  ’Sam?’ Meg’s tone sharpened. He could hear the note of reproach in that one syllable. ‘You should at least meet Dolly before you start jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll meet her.’

  ‘Fred’s given me instructions to be at your—um—disposal today. We could go across to Townsville later this morning. There are quite a few ferry times to choose from.’

  ‘OK.’ Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb. ‘And, Meg…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Let me handle this. We need to approach this whole exercise with extreme caution.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Sam. I think you’re overreacting. We’re going to check out a little old lady, not a hideaway for armed terrorists.’

  He heard the iciness chilling her voice and, not for the first time, Sam wished he could forget the family business. Throw off his responsibilities to Kirby & Son. Surely, when a guy met a woman like Meg, he should be able to put the rest of his life on hold? He would give anything to forget about the will and to take Meg in his arms again.

  And keep her there.

  As they stood at Dolly Kirby’s front gate, Meg and Sam exchanged wary smiles. During the ferry ride across from the island, Sam had been withdrawn and subdued and Meg had tried hard not to let her disappointment show.

  She’d been following her instincts when she’d asked Sam to stay last night and those instincts had led her to the most sensational, magical evening of her entire life.

  Today the bubble had burst.

  It seemed that Sam was in danger of losing his millions and it was clear where his priorities lay. The attentive lover, the fascinated, delighted companion of yesterday had been replaced by a cool, serious stranger.

  Seeing him like this left a chilling, sad emptiness like a cold hollow around Meg’s heart. Now she realised she’d been jumping the gun to imagine that last night’s happiness had been based on a blossoming of reciprocal love—the kind of love that lasts.

  She would give anything for just one of yesterday’s smiles.

  He reached forward and opened the latch on the rusty metal gate. It squeaked on its hinges as he shoved it open and he gestured for Meg to go before him. When they reached the low set of wooden steps leading to the front veranda of the cottage, his hand rested lightly at the small of her back. She noted with a grim smile that, even when he was dreadfully worried, his natural courtesy remained intact.

  Dolly Kirby answered Sam’s knock almost immediately.

  ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Her pale blue eyes riveted on Sam. They were rounded with shock. ‘Oh, my dear Lord!’

  Meg thought for a moment that the old lady was going to faint.

  Sam dipped his head stiffly. ‘Good morning, ma’am.’

  Dolly continued to stare at him while her mouth trembled and her arthritic fingers clutched at the big brass doorknob as if for support.

  ‘Mrs—er—Kirby?’ Sam asked in clarification.

  She nodded and at last she spoke. ‘Yes. I’m sorry but you gave me such a shock. You—you look so much like him.’

  ‘Him?’

  Meg glanced at Sam and watched his face darken with discomfort.

  ‘My Tom. His eyes were that beautiful sky blue just like yours—and with your dark hair. Oh, dear, you look so much like my Tom, and you sound just like him, too.’

  Dolly’s eyes glistened with sudden tears. Meg felt her own throat grow prickly with emotion. ‘Dolly, I’m Meg Bennet. You spoke to me on the phone and, as you’ve guessed, this is Sam Kirby.’

  Tentative handshakes were exchanged.

  ‘Please, come inside.’ Dolly led the way down the central hallway of her simple home and then turned into her lounge. She stood in the middle of the room and indicated they should sit on the old-fashioned, overstuffed sofa. When Meg and Sam were seated and leaning back against the frilly hand-embroidered cushions, she took her place on a carved wooden chair and continued to stare at Sam. ‘I can’t get over the likeness,’ she whispered. ‘It’s like Tom walked back into my life.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘So—er—Dolly, you’re claiming to have married my grandfather.’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ She nodded her head vehemently. ‘Tom and I were married in April, 1942. Just before he headed off for the Battle of the Coral Sea.’

  Meg wished Sam didn’t look quite so stony, like a lawyer grilling a suspect in the witness box.

  ‘There can’t have been much time for a long courtship?’

  ‘No, there wasn’t. I think I shocked my family.’ Dolly’s face trembled into a wistful smile. ‘It was a whirlwind romance.’

  Meg felt a rush of understanding, of having shared the experience of falling in love with a Kirby at breakneck speed. She couldn’t help smiling back at Dolly. If Tom Kirby had looked even half as sexy as Sam—if he had smiled at Dolly with the same heart-stopping blue eyes as Sam’s—she had no doubt at all that the other woman had fallen in love with the pace of a lightning strike.

  She sensed Sam sitting even more stiffly beside her.

  ‘You have evidence? A marriage licence?’ he asked in the deceptively casual
tone of a policeman making routine inquiries.

  Meg bit her lip uneasily. She wished he could take the trouble to be more gentle with this elderly woman.

  But, despite her fragile frame, Dolly was sprightly for her age. She was on her feet in a moment and crossing the carpeted room to an old-fashioned, beautifully carved sideboard. She picked up a framed photograph and a tattered manila folder and brought them across to him.

  The black and white photograph in its delicate silver frame shook in her frail hand as she offered it. ‘That’s Tom and I. It was taken just before we were married.’

  As Meg leaned closer to look at the picture he held, she bumped against Sam’s shoulder and she tried not to think about how much she loved the feel of him against her. She focused on the details of the photograph and tiny, sensitive hairs rose on the back of her neck.

  The laughing young man in the photo could have been Sam.

  His height and build were very similar, but it was in their faces that the two men bore such a startling resemblance: the bright eyes, despite the lack of colour in the photo, the thick black hair; the strong line of the dark brows; the slightly crooked nose and squared, no-nonsense jaw. And the mouth; Meg could see that even Tom Kirby’s lips were exactly like Sam’s—surprisingly sensuous in such a strongly masculine face.

  Her eyes caught Dolly’s and they exchanged shy smiles as a flash of sympathetic understanding sparked between them.

  Behind the couple rose a familiar rocky headland.

  ‘That looks like Florence Bay,’ Meg cried out.

  ‘Yes, dear.’ Dolly smiled wistfully. ‘Tom and I met on the island. Florence was a very special place for us.’

  ‘You know, that’s where I found the bottle?’

  Dolly nodded and her face shone.

  Sam made throat-clearing noises and shifted uneasily.

  Meg looked at the young Dolly in the photo with her hand resting possessively on Tom Kirby’s arm, demonstrating the same sense of connection and belonging that she felt for Sam.

  The parallels were so strong, Meg couldn’t help remembering the strange, mystical bond she’d felt when she’d found the bottle. It was as if she’d been caught up in some kind of time warp.