‘So am I.’ Amy’s brow scrunched with a frown. ‘I don’t think we have anything to worry about. My period’s due tomorrow.’
Ben nodded, mind whirring on the possibility of having just created a life before he shut the thought down. Best to wait and see. ‘You will tell me if there’s anything I need to know.’ He searched her eyes for any resistance.
‘Definitely.’ She nodded, biting her lower lip.
‘Alright, then. Spilt milk and all that,’ he sighed. ‘How about I take you upstairs, douse you under a nice hot shower, rub my hands all over your body then conduct an encore of my recent lauded performance, this time with protection, before we have dinner?’
Amy didn’t give him a verbal reply. Instead, she hiked herself off his lap, grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the stairs. Ben followed along behind, grinning from ear to ear, admiring her naked form in sunshine-yellow heels.
AMY PULLED A terracotta baking dish containing lamb and roast vegetables out of the oven and turned to find Ben leaning against the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching her with a heavy-lidded half-smile. She returned it, knowing she really should take him down a peg or two but feeling too good to bother.
Her legs still felt a little shaky. That was no surprise considering she’d managed a few poses in the past hour or so that would put a yogi to shame. Come to think of it, they put her to shame. To distract herself from that particular line of thought, she turned her attention to the food. She prodded the lamb with a fork and satisfied herself that it was done. ‘Where are we eating?’
‘Why don’t we eat here?’ Ben gestured to the island and the bar stools next to it.
Amy’s look should have singed his socks.
He raised a black brow. ‘Or maybe I could set the dining room table.’
‘Don’t forget the napkins,’ Amy said primly. ‘And where are your plates?’
‘Ah.’ Ben eyed the kitchen cupboards as if they were uncharted territory. ‘May I assume you’re looking for nice ones, not the usual everyday dross?’
‘Preferably the nice ones. Knives and forks would be good too.’
Ben sighed theatrically.
‘And glasses. Do you have any wine? A red would work.’ Amy pulled the baguette she’d been warming out of the oven and deftly sliced it into rounds before arranging it on a serving platter she’d found lurking in an otherwise empty cupboard.
‘Oh, and something to put this on. A trivet if you’ve got one.’ She gestured to the lamb with a nod while breaking off a twig of rosemary and placing it on top for decoration. Maybe some rosemary butter for the bread . . . She was about to ask Ben what he thought of the idea, but the sight of him looking so lost in the middle of his own kitchen was too much and she ended up laughing instead. ‘You know, I think I’d have more luck if I went looking for everything myself.’
Ben scowled. ‘Hush. I’m strategising. Colin arranged for someone to stock the cupboards with the usual stuff and I haven’t learned where everything is yet.’
‘You’ve been here for months!’ She took pity on him and pulled out knives, forks and glasses from where she’d spotted them earlier.
‘Yes, but I don’t cook other than heating up take-away. If you’d asked me where the microwave was I’d have more success,’ Ben said, pulling cupboards open at random. ‘Ah. Plates.’
‘I’ve got the rest here,’ Amy said just as he began to pull cupboards open again. ‘Hurry up, mister. If my good lookin’ hunk’a lamb gets cold I’m gonna be shirty.’ She led the way into his dining room, which featured a rough-hewn, bleached pine dining table surrounded by eight high-backed white leather chairs.
‘Have you christened this yet? You could fit at least twelve people around here.’
‘No. You’re the first. Alex was my only other guest and we mainly ate out.’ Ben helped Amy set two places at one end of the table. He produced a bottle of Shiraz and poured them a generous splash each before pulling out a chair for her.
He took a seat. ‘If I haven’t said it already, I genuinely appreciate this.’ The words contained such a rare sincerity that Amy felt warmth spread through her.
‘Thanks.’ She beamed, serving him up a generous portion of roast lamb and vegetables before serving herself. Her eyes sparkled as she watched Ben’s usual decorum disappear as he ate with gusto. ‘I wore you out, didn’t I?’ She chuckled at his sudden half-embarrassed, half-offended look. ‘We’ll talk later. I don’t mind.’ She gestured for him to keep eating, which he did, cleaning his plate in record time.
‘Sorry. Terribly rude of me. It’s been a big few weeks. And yours is the best home cooking I have ever tasted.’ Ben leaned back in his chair, watching on as she ate at a much more sedate pace.
‘Why did you go back to London this time?’ She blotted her lips with a napkin and reached for her wine.
Ben’s expression turned dark. ‘Same thing as before, although this time was worse because Colin managed to drop me head-first in the soup.’
Curious, Amy raised both brows.
‘An ex-girlfriend of mine has just sold her version of our time together to the tabloids. It’s not flattering to say the least.’ Ben paused as if gauging her reaction.
‘Oh?’ She played with her wine glass, deliberately keeping her expression impassive as she waited for him to continue talking. If her life had taught her anything to date, it was not to assume anything about people until you had all the information. Too often she’d assumed a man was worth her time, only to be disappointed. She’d never had it work the other way before, but if the kernel of dread sitting in her tummy was any indication, she was really, really hoping Ben wasn’t going to turn out to be a dud. She had a sneaking suspicion she’d already managed to walk right past infatuation, straight to the deep and meaningful stuff. The thought of having it all blow up in her face was leaving her seriously queasy.
An awkward silence fell between them until Ben smoothed a hand over his head and loudly cleared his throat. ‘Marcella has decided to use me to advance her career by making up a lot of unimaginative bollocks. I won’t bother repeating it. Needless to say, she makes me look like the love child of the Marquis de Sade and Saddam Hussein. The British press are screaming for my blood, which they haven’t been able to get since I moved to Australia but . . .’ He took a sip of his wine. ‘Colin let slip I was coming back to London to a member of the press. The long and the short of it is that you’re probably going to see me plastered over a few of those magazines you stock in your salon, if you subscribe to any of the British ones at least.’ Ben grimaced. ‘Most of them feature me standing on my front door step, looking fit to kill.’ He topped up Amy’s glass.
‘How long were you together?’
He scowled. ‘Only three months, but you’d think it had been years given what she’s written.’
Amy tilted her head to one side, searching his features for any sign he was lying. He certainly wasn’t presenting his usual polished, glib façade. She relaxed a little. ‘Can you give me a hint?’
‘I’d rather not. It’s pure fiction and badly written at that.’
‘I could just look it up,’ she pressed.
‘That’s not very sporting of you,’ Ben replied indignantly.
‘You’re right,’ Amy agreed. ‘So I’ll make it up instead.’ She put her finger to the side of her mouth and frowned thoughtfully. ‘Hmm . . . did she say you were really a woman? Because I checked. You’re not.’ She giggled at Ben’s raised brows. ‘Or did she say you were really a closet masochist who likes being spanked while doing the dishes? Because if you are, I can pencil you in. I’m quite good with the flat of my hand.’ She clapped her hands together and was rewarded when Ben chuckled. ‘That was a hint just in case you didn’t notice.’ She prodded him with her foot.
He feigned surprise. ‘Really? No, no, I didn’t notice the hint at all. I was actually seriously contemplating your offer. Dishes and spanking? I’ve never been that kinky but for you I would consider it.’
His smile turned predatory.
Amy waggled her brows. ‘After dessert.’ She changed the topic. ‘Do you have the whole paparazzi thing happening all the time?’
Ben shook his head slowly. ‘No. This is the worst. There was some coverage a few years ago when I grievously offended a talk show host, Dermot Langston. Do you get him here? No? Well, he’s a total wanker so I wouldn’t feel bad about it. And then there was the time I ran my car into a stone wall in Lancashire, but that was just normal run-of-the-mill stuff. This was something else. I can’t even begin to tell you how relieved I was to get on that plane and come back here, where I’m relatively anonymous. I missed you.’ He reached across the table and ran his index finger over Amy’s knuckle.
‘Did you really?’ she asked as the warm fuzzy feeling from earlier returned.
‘Yes, actually. Surprising, considering how you boss me around. I’m positively brow beaten.’ Ben laughed at Amy’s indignant yelp and stood up, collecting plates and striding into the kitchen. ‘I recall there was something I had to do with the dishes.’
‘Keep this up, mister, and I won’t give you the spanking to go with them,’ Amy called after him, collecting the last of the things off the table and following along behind.
‘Spoil sport. I’ll settle for dessert instead. What’s in the mystery tin?’ Ben lifted it up and looked at Amy.
‘Go for it,’ she said with a wide grin, feeling faintly nervous and hoping that he liked her little present. From his surprised exclamation, he did.
‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, ice-pale eyes alight with amusement.
Amy beamed. ‘I made it. It’s a bit silly, but I saw the toy and thought of you . . .’
‘Really?’ Ben’s harsh features softened. ‘I love it.’ He gently lifted the iced chocolate cake out of the tin and studied the small Matchbox Aston Martin perched on top of a ridiculously intricate marzipan racetrack.
‘You said you never really celebrated your birthday. Remember that first day you came in to Babyface? Anyway, it sounded like you’ve had a pretty difficult few weeks . . . so . . . this is an un-birthday cake to make up for it,’ she said in a rush, hoping, praying he wouldn’t make fun of her for this and feeling relieved when he continued to examine the cake, turning it from side to side with a bemused smile.
‘Un-birthday?’
‘Yeah, well, since Jo and I didn’t get to have our real birthdays a lot of the time when we were little, we’d pick another day and call it our un-birthday. You know, I think I had more than one some years when things were really crappy.’ Amy smiled at the memory. ‘Jo used to surprise me with them. We still do them every now and then – just had one for Myf a few weeks ago.’ She watched his expression. He’d begun to frown so she kept talking. ‘It’s nice to pass it on. So . . .’ She awkwardly shrugged her shoulders and smiled brightly. ‘Happy un-birthday! Can I ask how old you are or do I have to guess?’
When Ben spoke, his voice was gravelly and his normal feline smile was a little less smooth than usual. ‘I turned thirty-three this year but since this is my first un-birthday, let’s say I’m one. That way I can be entirely selfish and keep the toy and have the largest slice of cake.’ He plucked the tiny Aston Martin off the confectionery race track before retrieving a square of paper towel and painstakingly cleaning it off.
‘Hmm, I’m not too sure about that. You only get to keep the toy if you’re a good boy,’ Amy teased, warm with pleasure that he’d understood.
‘Look at this face.’ He pointed to himself. ‘Isn’t this the face of a complete angel?’ He licked the icing off his finger and then held out a hand for the knife Amy had just retrieved from a drawer.
‘Nope.’
‘I’m feeling grievously insulted. For that, you get a tiny, teeny piece of cake and I won’t do any of those depraved sexual things you were hoping I’d do to you afterwards.’
‘Depraved things, eh?’ Amy tapped her chin, turned on and amused at the same time. ‘Name one.’
‘Hmm, for a start I wouldn’t mind seeing what you look like wearing nothing but a few dabs of this.’ He leaned over and smeared a small dab of icing on her nose before licking it off.
‘That depraved?’ Amy decided depraved might have potential.
‘Mmm. There could be more.’ Ben cut two generous slices of cake. ‘But I haven’t made them up yet. Want to help me ad lib? It’s how my best work is done.’
Amy feigned thoughtfulness just long enough to keep him on his toes before grinning widely.
‘Okay.’
Amy hugged a plush white cushion to her chest and covertly studied her sister, who looked stormier than the weather battering the windows of the fifth-floor apartment overlooking the Swan River.
If Amy didn’t know better, she’d think Jo had a vitriolic dislike of the movie they were watching. Normally Will Ferrell flicks sent Jo into gales of laughter, but today she was sprawled out on her couch, furiously jiggling her splayed knees and frowning enough to give herself permanent wrinkles.
It didn’t look like Amy was going to be enjoying the companionable sister time she’d been looking forward to all week. The mood in Jo’s living room was so miserable that both Gerald and Jo’s cat, Boomba, had retreated to the kitchen to do their respective afternoon snoozing out of the blast zone.
‘You know we don’t have to watch a movie. We can go keep Stephen and Scott company at the pub,’ Amy finally suggested when she’d had enough.
‘Nah.’ Still frowning at the TV, Jo stretched out her long legs and propped her feet on her glass and Jarrah coffee table with a thunk.
‘Okay, maybe you can tell me what’s wrong, then, instead,’ Amy said briskly. ‘It can’t be the brewery, because you just told me yesterday how much you’re loving it. It can’t be Stephen, because you were all over him when I got here. If I’m not mistaken, I interrupted you guys mid-hanky panky.’
Jo’s generous mouth reluctantly curled up at the side. ‘Maybe,’ she grouched. ‘Not that he deserves it.’
Amy raised her brows in surprise. ‘So you are grumpy with Stephen? What’s he done this time?’
Jo crossed her arms tightly over her chest and frowned even harder.
‘Jo,’ Amy prompted. ‘I’m getting worried here, m’love. You want to tell me what’s wrong?’
Jo rubbed her face with her hands. ‘I dunno what to do.’
‘About what?’ Amy sat up straighter on the couch, genuinely worried now. This didn’t sound like Jo at all.
‘I dunno. Jesus. This really sucks.’
‘What! What really sucks? Is it Stephen? Have you two fought?’
‘No.’
‘Then what?’ Amy was on the edge of her seat now. For the first time that day, she noticed her sister’s normally smooth, lightly tanned skin was pale. Really pale. ‘You’re not sick, are you?’
‘Kinda.’
‘What do you mean kinda sick? So help me Jo, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I’m going to call Stephen and ask him.’
‘No!’ Jo’s eyes were wide in alarm and the word reverberated around the room.
‘Then tell me!’
‘Okay! Fucking hell! I’m getting to it, alright?’
Amy watching in amazement as her solid-as-a-rock older sister began wringing her hands.
‘Jo?’
There was a pause and Jo’s features screwed up until she resembled a worried walnut.
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘What?’ Amy launched herself towards her sister, pulling her into a bone-crunching hug. ‘Pregnant? When? How far along?I didn’t know you were trying. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Omph. Far out! You trying to strangle me?’ Jo complained, but returned the hug with such force that her fingers bruised Amy’s back.
‘I’m going to be an auntie,’ Amy said with a gleeful grin against Jo’s hair.
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Amy pulled away to look at Jo’s expression.
‘I just
told you. I’m pregnant,’ Jo repeated, scowling.
‘Isn’t that a good thing? Hold it. Was this planned?’ Amy settled herself next to Jo on the couch, tucking her knees up under her chin.
‘Nope.’ Jo picked up the TV remote, pausing their movie.
‘Then how?’
‘Condom broke.’
‘You’re on the pill.’
‘Yeah . . . well . . . I missed a few when I got that cold a while back and we used a condom instead, but Stephen got a bit enthusiastic and it broke.’
‘Stephen, hey?’ Amy asked, her eyes twinkling.
Jo pushed Amy backwards. ‘Shaddup.’
Amy couldn’t help her laughter. ‘Sorry, precious. I know you’re upset, but you have to admit this is funny.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Jo’s expression turned bleak. ‘It’s fucking terrifying. A baby? I always thought you’d be the one to have kids, Ames. You’re the nice one. What happens if I turn out to be like Mum, or worse, like Dad?’ She drew a shuddering breath.
‘Aw, Jo.’ Amy felt her sister’s anguish like a kick to the stomach. She scooted back and hiked herself up onto her knees, pulled Jo’s head against her shoulder and rubbed her back. ‘You know you’re nothing like them. No more than I am.’
‘You don’t know that. I’ve never really been around kids. I’ve got no idea if I’m going to be good at this.’ Jo pulled back, her eyes swimming, her expression heartbreaking.
‘Yes, you do. You raised me,’ Amy said emphatically, fighting her own tears. ‘Mum didn’t. All my memories are of you, Jo. Do you think I don’t remember all the times you put yourself between Dad and me when he was drunk?’
‘That’s different.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Amy looked Jo directly in the eyes. ‘You know it’s not either. I bet Stephen’s already told you all this stuff too, hasn’t he?’
Jo averted her gaze.
Amy’s eyes opened wide. ‘You haven’t told him yet, have you?’ She leaned back to focus more clearly on Jo’s expression. ‘Jo?’
The Barbershop Girl Page 15
