by Maggie Cox
‘You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.’
He laughed out loud, the inadvertently sensual timbre intruding disconcertingly on her ability to think, to string one or two words together coherently. Anybody would think she was a lovesick teenager out on her first proper date.
‘I’ve been thinking of renting a house near your aunt’s—just until we can buy a place of our own. As comfortable as my hotel undoubtedly is, I don’t want to stay there indefinitely. More to the point, I don’t want us to be apart any more. It’s time we were together again…permanently.’
She knew he was right but it didn’t stop her heart from almost thudding right out of her chest. She loved him so much that she just couldn’t bear it if, when they finally moved in together, things didn’t work out. To soothe her scattered nerves, she took a deep gulp of dry, crisp champagne.
‘Easy on the alcohol, baby.’ There was a brooding intensity to his gaze that made Tara curl her toes in her stockinged feet. When he looked at her like that she forgot those last few doubts and felt that he truly did love her. That he didn’t just want her because he was trying to right past wrongs, or because she was once again having his baby. Gazing unseeingly past his impressively broad shoulders, she twirled the fragile stem of her wine glass between her fingers.
‘I know what I’m doing.’
‘I want you to stay healthy during this pregnancy. I know we’re having wine and champagne, but after tonight I don’t want you to have any more alcohol.’
She stiffened her spine, her green eyes flashing. ‘I’m quite capable of judging when I can or can’t dr—’
‘Mac, darling! I thought it was you! Patrice and I—Remember my sister, Patrice? We were just talking about you. We were wondering if you had managed to persuade that stubborn little wife of yours to give you a divorce so that you could finally be free. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see your lovely companion there—aren’t you going to introduce us, Mac?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE French girl was a dead ringer for a young Audrey Hepburn. Exquisitely attired in an aubergine-coloured little satin dress that skimmed her virtually non-existent hips, and smelling of some almost overpoweringly gorgeous fragrance, she made Tara feel like some ill-coordinated blowsy blonde in comparison. But more than that her senses were reeling with the impact of the woman’s deliberately insulting phraseology. ‘Stubborn little wife’? Was that how Mac had referred to her?
Her startled gaze froze into his. She heard the bated breath he suddenly released and knew he was discomfited by the appearance of his ex-girlfriend, because as sure as hens hatched baby chicks this had to be the famous Amelie.
He didn’t bother to rise to his feet as politeness dictated. Instead, he coolly looked the French girl over as though it was beneath him even to deign a reply. Tara saw the faint flush of scarlet beneath the other woman’s perfect make-up and actually felt sorry for her.
‘It would have been nice to be able to say I was glad to see you again, Amelie, but under the circumstances that would be stretching the bounds of credibility too far. Why don’t you just go on back and find your sister and allow Tara and myself to enjoy our dinner in peace?’
‘So I was right? This is your wife. Have you managed to get her pregnant yet, Mac? You were in such a hurry to embrace fatherhood. She certainly has a healthy “bloom” about her that makes one think of a mother-to-be.’ Dark, flashing eyes skimmed scathingly down to Tara’s cleavage and back up to her face. ‘All that creamy white flesh. Makes one think of a serving wench. I am not sure I would want to sacrifice my figure to be in the same position.’
‘Call that a figure?’ Throwing her napkin down on the table, Tara got to her feet. ‘I’ve seen telegraph poles with more curves! If you’ll excuse me, I suddenly feel the urge for a change of air. Nice of you to drop by and chat to my husband and me…sorry, what was your name?’ And with a dismissive toss of her head and a sexy little shimmy as she passed, Tara wound her way past tables and waiters in her stockinged feet to find the ladies’ room, and practically every male head in the restaurant turned her way to mark her progress.
Mac didn’t even bother to try and disguise his amusement. Furious, Amelie murmured an insult in the expressive language of her homeland then stalked away as regally as her anger allowed her. Once he was alone again, Mac leaned back in his seat, loosened his tie, then let out a long, slow breath. If he could have spared Tara Amelie’s insult he would have—but then his pretty blonde wife had more than bested his ex. He was both surprised and turned on by her unexpected display of chutzpah. The girl he had married had blossomed from the shy twenty-two-year-old he’d first met into an assertive, confident young woman who didn’t just turn heads because of her looks—but also because there was an almost commandingly forthright air about her that made people pay attention. He remembered that she’d told him how she’d lost confidence after the loss of their baby, and felt a deep surge of gratitude that she’d obviously started to regain it. Curling his fingers round the stem of his wine glass, Mac knew that he was head over heels in love with her. A future without Tara in it just wasn’t a future worth contemplating as far as he was concerned. And now they were going to become parents. Silently blessing the fates for giving him this second chance at happiness, he made a vow that whatever happened he wasn’t going to screw it up.
Ten minutes later, he considered his watch with concern. Catching the eye of a passing waiter, he asked if someone could go and check on his wife in the ladies’ room because she hadn’t returned to their table. In an effort to stem the anxiety clenching his gut, Mac took another sip of wine and told himself to relax.
In the scented powder room with its gleaming basins and shiny mirrors, Tara yanked several more tissues out of the floral box like a conjuror pulling handkerchiefs out of his sleeve, and handed them to the pretty brunette sobbing in the wicker chair in front of her. Sniffling, the young woman gratefully took hold of the wodge of tissue then noisily blew her nose. ‘I said some awful things,’ she murmured, big brown eyes shimmering up at Tara. ‘I said if he loved work so much, why didn’t he just move in there? I’d be better off with a flatmate—at least I’d have someone to go out with now and then. He just glared at me and said I should be more understanding, that he was working so hard for me—for us—to give our baby a better future. Then he w-walked out of the restaurant and l-left me here.’
‘You’re pregnant?’
The young woman nodded miserably. ‘I was so happy when I found out but now I just w-want to d-die.’ Collapsing into another bout of uncontrollable sobbing, she covered her face with her hands, her mascara caking her eyelashes in a way that made her look like a sad little circus clown.
Dropping down onto her haunches in front of her, Tara smoothed back the girl’s softly disarrayed brown hair then gently prised her hands away from her face. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Sinead.’
‘Well, Sinead, I’m Tara and I’m pregnant too. If it’s any consolation I know what you’re going through. I also had a lot of disagreements with my husband about his dedication to his work and instead of being open to compromise I moped around feeling hard-done-by and sorry for myself. In some ways I was right to get on his case but in others I wasn’t. The point is…’ She paused to realise just how far she’d come down the road from misery to happiness and could have hugged herself with the delight of it—despite the French girl’s bitchy insinuations that Mac only wanted Tara because he wanted to become a father. That wasn’t even close to the truth. The truth was that whenever Mac looked her way these days the love he felt for her was shiningly obvious, even if he hadn’t actually said the words yet. ‘The point is that you have to keep talking. Keep the lines of communication open. Don’t let resentment and anger make you do something you might live to regret. Your baby needs two parents—two parents who love each other and will give him the best home he could wish for. Trust me—if you both calm down a little and celebrate the things that attr
acted you to each other in the first place, you’ll be just fine. I promise.’
Sinead had stopped crying. Patting the crumpled tissue beneath her eyes, she managed a tremulous smile. ‘Paul—that’s my husband—he’s got a great sense of humour, you know? Always making me laugh. We’re really good together when we’re not arguing.’ She gave a sad little shrug and for a moment looked lost in thought. ‘We came out tonight to celebrate the news of my pregnancy. He brought his mobile phone with him and when it went off a few minutes ago—it was someone from work wanting him to come in early tomorrow. Well, I’m afraid I just flipped. That’s when I said he should move his things into work so he wouldn’t have to come home at all. He’s never walked out on me before. He was so angry…what if he never comes back?’
Seeing the tears welling again in those huge brown eyes, Tara squeezed Sinead’s hand and smiled. ‘Of course he’ll come back,’ she said confidently—secretly praying she was right. ‘He’ll walk up and down a bit and get his knickers in a twist but then he’ll cool down again and come back. Do you really think he’d want to miss a slap-up meal in celebration of your baby?’
Sinead shook her head, sighing heavily.
‘Look, why don’t you come back with me to my table? You can sit with me and Mac and chat to us until Paul comes back. How about it?’
‘Mac’s your husband?’
‘Stands for Macsen. His father was Norwegian.’
‘Are you sure he w-won’t mind?’ Slowly Sinead stood up, glancing in the mirror to attend to her disarrayed hair.
‘Of course he won’t mind.’
Waiting until Sinead had tidied her hair and reapplied her smudged make-up, Tara was about to lead the way out of the ladies’ room when a smartly attired waitress popped her head round the door and asked if either of them went by the name of Mrs Simmonsen, because a Mr Simmonsen was getting rather anxious about her welfare and their meal was about to be served.
‘Nice young couple.’ As he glanced at Tara snuggled up in the passenger seat beside him, Mac’s gaze slipped appreciatively down to the shapely thigh lovingly outlined by the pink and silver knit dress and couldn’t prevent the low throb of heat in his groin. His fingers automatically tightened round the steering wheel as he forced himself to concentrate on the dark strip of road ahead.
‘Lovely,’ Tara murmured, turning to regard him. ‘I was so glad Paul didn’t leave her stranded. Sinead was breaking her heart over him in the ladies’.’
Mac said nothing for several long seconds. Shifting in her seat, Tara prompted hesitantly, ‘Mac? Is everything all right?’
‘Shades of you and me five years ago, huh? Funny how listening to what Paul had to say about his work made me realise what a fool I was then.’
‘It was good of you to talk to him the way you did. I think it really helped him to see things in a different light, to make priorities—remind him that his wife needed some of his time too. I really think those two will work it out, don’t you?’
‘Hope so. I was worried about you, you know? When you were taking so long to come out of the ladies’, I mean. I thought something might be wrong.’
Registering the sudden tension in the line of his strong shoulders, Tara scooted up into a proper sitting position. Her heart gave a little jolt when she realised what he was referring to.
‘You mean with the baby?’ She hurried to reassure him. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m feeling good. I did one of those proper tests this morning—I got a kit from the chemist’s just to confirm things and I’m definitely pregnant and I’m definitely OK. Any day now the morning sickness should kick in but, having been through it once before, I know what to expect, so I’m not too worried.’
For answer, Mac reached out and laid his hand on her knee. ‘I don’t want you to worry about anything. You’re seeing Dr Chamberlain on Monday morning and he’ll give you a complete check-up. If you have any particular concerns you can discuss it with him.’
‘Mac?’
‘What is it?’ He withdrew his hand to concentrate on manoeuvring the car round a sudden sharp bend in the road.
‘Just because—because Gabriel died the way he did, it doesn’t mean the same thing’s going to happen to this baby…you know that, don’t you? The obstetrician at the hospital told me the odds of it happening twice were practically nil.’
Anxiety and regret clutched at Mac’s chest, making it almost difficult to breathe. ‘That’s good to know. Still, I’m going to make sure that you have the best care possible—we won’t be taking any chances—and there’ll definitely be no shifting heavy stuff around in the antique shop. If Beth needs help, she can ask me. By the way, tomorrow I’ve got a possible house for rent to go and view. I thought you might like to come.’
‘You haven’t forgotten Beth’s coming home in the afternoon?’
‘Seeing as I’m going to pick her up, why would I forget?’
‘Just checking.’
‘Tara?’
‘Hmm?’ Snuggling back down in the luxurious leather seat, she glanced at him with a sleepy gaze.
‘I’m sorry about Amelie showing up at the restaurant like that. I’m even sorrier for the things she said. You know she only said them because she was mad at me?’
‘I worked that out for myself, Mac. Anyway…I could handle it.’
‘Damn right.’ Mac was still smiling as he pointed the car towards home.
Mac strolled into the living room of their new rented house to find his wife reaching up to the topmost shelf of a bookcase, diligently polishing it with a duster, her hips wiggling delightfully. She was wearing a short, tight black skirt, a hot-pink blouse, black hosiery and pumps, and as soon as he set eyes on the tempting little package she made Mac’s famed ability to think on his feet vanished in less than a second. Catching the citrus and musk tones of her fragrance, he paused to take a steadying breath before walking up behind her and sliding his arms possessively round her waist.
‘You smell gorgeous, you know that?’ Nuzzling her neck, he felt himself hardening the instant she leant back against him, pressing her bottom provocatively into his groin.
‘Hmm…so do you.’ With a breathless little sigh, Tara pivoted in his arms, her clear green eyes gazing hungrily up at the sensually lazy smile hijacking his delectable lips. Unable to resist such temptation, she stood on tiptoe to deliver several small, well-aimed kisses, her teeth tugging playfully on his lower lip, encouraging him to open for her so she could delve into his heat. Put it down to hormones or just healthy old lust—Tara didn’t care which—all she knew was that since she had moved back in with Mac she couldn’t leave the man alone. Not that he seemed to be complaining.
‘Take off your clothes.’ With a predatory little growl she settled her small hands on his lapels, starting to ease his jacket down over his shoulders, surprised and disappointed when his hand suddenly clamped her wrist to stop her.
‘Hey…I thought it was my antecedents who were famed for pillaging and ravishing?’ he teased, blue eyes dancing. The picture his words conjured up in her mind had Tara’s nipples aching and her blood temperature soaring off the scale.
‘Well, then…’ Sliding her free hand into his hair, she deliberately lowered her voice to a seductive purr. ‘Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and show me how it’s done?’
He groaned, kissed her hard then abruptly released her. ‘This won’t do, Tara.’
‘Mac? What’s wrong?’ Had she overstepped the mark? What wouldn’t do? she fretted. Did sexually assertive females turn him off? Since they’d got back together she’d been slowly but surely letting her guard down, revealing sides to her personality previously kept under wraps, telling herself to trust him, believe in him. He was a good man. Mac wouldn’t hurt her the way he had before—he cared about her too much for that ever to happen again. But, that aside, she felt herself retreating behind a sudden wave of doubt, terrified she’d done or said something wrong to make him withdraw. Crossing her arms protectively acros
s her chest, she waited anxiously for him to explain.
She heard him swear softly beneath his breath. At least she thought he was swearing—it was difficult to tell when the language he’d used was Norwegian. ‘I think we need to lay down some ground rules,’ he said, scratching his head, as if desperately searching for a solution to whatever was bothering him.
‘Ground rules?’ Even more puzzled, Tara uncrossed her arms and dropped her hands to her hips instead.
‘I don’t think it’s good for you to get too over-stimulated,’ he replied, expression torn. ‘Too much sexual activity probably isn’t good for the baby.’
Tara would have laughed out loud if he didn’t look so damned in earnest. ‘And where did you hear that?’ she asked, striving to keep her voice light—not an easy feat when rising hysteria was threatening.
‘It makes sense, doesn’t it?’ Doubt flitted across his handsome features and something warm and precious sneaked into Tara’s heart and made a home there.
‘Does it?’ A bubble of mirth had her biting her lip to keep from smiling.
‘Anyway, Dr Chamberlain said it was important that you get plenty of rest for the first three months. I don’t want you tiring yourself out with household chores or things like that. I’ve already been on to a domestic agency to hire someone to come in once a day and do a little light cleaning and some ironing. Now, why don’t you just put your feet up and I’ll make you one of those nice fruit teas we bought at the health shop?’
‘Dammit, Mac, don’t patronise me! I don’t want fruit tea! I absolutely loathe the stuff. Give me a proper brew any day in preference to that scented water! And anyway, tea’s not the issue here, is it?’ Warming to her subject, Tara strode up and down as if the activity somehow helped to release all the frustrating thoughts that were backing up in her brain.
‘You’ve been treating me like spun glass ever since I told you I was pregnant. It’s lovely of you but really I don’t need a fuss. Being pregnant isn’t the same as being ill, Mac, and I do know how to take care of myself. We’ve got a cupboard full of all kinds of weird and wonderful items from the health shop that I wouldn’t even eat if I were stranded on a desert island for a year! I’m longing for some proper food…fish and chips, sausages and mash, curry and rice. And if this healthy regime you’ve put me on isn’t bad enough—now you’re trying to curtail the one thing that makes me really happy. That’s what won’t do, Mac! Got it?’
