by Kate Hardy
‘I…look, we can’t stay in bed all day.’
He didn’t see why not, but he sighed. ‘All right. I’ll make us some breakfast.’
He didn’t bother to dress, just climbed out of bed; Jane headed for the bathroom. He’d switched on the kettle and taken fruit from the fridge when he heard the unmistakable sound of retching.
‘Jane? Are you OK?’ he called.
‘Morning sickness,’ she mumbled. ‘I thought it meant feeling sick, not…’
And she was promptly sick again.
He took a bottle of water from the fridge and poured a glass for her, then rapped on the bathroom door and walked in. He put the glass down on the window sill, then ran warm water into the sink, soaked a flannel and wrung it out.
‘It’s OK,’ he said softly, wiping her face.
‘I feel horrible,’ she said, her face white.
And he’d left her to deal with this on her own.
Just as he’d left Natalie.
Well, he hadn’t known about Natalie’s pregnancy when he’d gone to the Antarctic. But he knew about Jane’s. And it made him feel like pondlife. How could he just walk away from this and let her deal with it alone? What sort of man was he?
Ha. He already knew that. A coward.
One who was too scared to stay in case his heart got involved again.
He wiped her face. ‘Sip this water,’ he said, lifting the glass to her mouth. ‘Slowly. What do you normally eat when you feel like this?’
‘Dry crackers.’
‘I haven’t got any. The best I can do is dry toast.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t face that. Toast smells.’
He stroked her hair. ‘Does this happen a lot?’
‘It’s the first time I’ve actually been sick. And I thought it was supposed to stop being this bad by now.’ She grimaced.
He stroked her face. ‘Just help yourself to whatever you need. And if you want me to do anything, just yell, OK? I’ll get your clothes and leave them outside the bathroom door.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled wanly at him and continued sipping water.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed, he’d sorted out the sofa bed and tidied up. ‘Can I get you some toast now?’
‘No.’ She shuddered. ‘But thanks for the offer.’
‘Coffee?’
‘Just water. Thanks.’
He remembered she couldn’t handle smells. So he asked first. ‘Do you mind if I have coffee?’
Her sudden pallor told him the answer. She’d be brave about it if he pushed, but he wasn’t going to be that self-centred and put his own need for coffee above hers for avoiding smells that made her ill. ‘OK. I’ll stick to juice,’ he said, and headed for the fridge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AFTER breakfast, Mitch took Jane back to her house so she could change, and it drove her crazy that he refused to come in and meet her housemates. She didn’t quite believe his excuse that he had some emails he needed to answer so he’d work in the car while she was getting ready—she knew it would still be well before the crack of dawn in America right then—but at the same time she didn’t want to push him and break the new harmony between them.
And she was glad she hadn’t when he drove her back to the centre of London.
‘I thought we’d have a chill-out day,’ Mitch said, parking in a little back street she’d never seen before.
But as soon as they walked to the main road she knew exactly where she was. ‘St James’s Park.’
‘The perfect walk on a perfect summer’s day,’ he said.
Blue skies, sunshine, and warm without being sticky or humid. Mitch’s fingers curled round hers and they walked over by the water, watching the flamingoes and the pelicans that lived on Duck Island.
He was almost right, she thought. Except he’d missed a word out. It was the perfect romantic summer’s day. Especially when, every so often, he spun her round to face him and stole a kiss. Or gave her one of those smiles that sent her knees weak. This was the man she’d fallen for on her birthday—not the cold, aloof stranger he’d become the next time she’d seen him.
They had lunch in a little tapas bar; Mitch didn’t ask her what she wanted, but ordered a huge array of dishes and some plain bread to mop everything up. And because they were eating outside on a little terrace in the shade of a parasol, the spicier scents were blown away by the light breeze and she could eat without feeling queasy.
When she couldn’t decide what to try first, Mitch smiled at her.
‘Close your eyes and open your mouth.’
‘What?’
‘Just do it.’ He wrinkled his nose to take the edge off the command.
She closed her eyes. And then she felt him brush something along her lower lip, tempting her to take the morsel from his fingers. One of the salty, glossy black olives she’d liked the look of.
It was a game she’d never played before—and she was surprised by how arousing she found it. Even more so when she opened her eyes and kept her gaze fixed on his as he fed her. Because they were in the shade, they’d both pushed their sunglasses on top of their heads—and those beautiful grey-green eyes were hot. This was turning him on, too.
Well, what was sauce for the goose…
She took a cube of the marinated halloumi cheese. ‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
She could see the spark of amusement in his gaze, but he did as she asked. And when he ate the morsel she fed him, she could feel the warmth of his mouth against her finger and thumb. That was a deliberate pout, she was sure, so he could kiss her fingertips.
Talk about sexy.
If they weren’t in a public place…
Then he opened his eyes. And his gaze was smouldering. Sultry. Telling her that he was thinking exactly the same as she was.
She rubbed an olive against his lower lip—and then licked her own lip.
He dragged in a breath. ‘Jane, are you trying to vamp me?’
Yup. And she thought it was working. But she spread her hands and pretended demureness. ‘What, on a crowded terrace in the middle of the afternoon?’
He leaned closer, as if to whisper in her ear, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck. His lips were a few millimetres from her skin. And it shocked her how much she wanted him to kiss her.
She felt his teeth graze her earlobe—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tell her that he wanted her. Right here. Right now.
‘It’s working,’ he whispered.
After that, lunch didn’t last long.
And Mitch was lucky not to get a speeding fine on the way back to his flat.
She’d also never seen a sofa bed opened so quickly. And just as well. She couldn’t wait any more, either. Couldn’t spin out the pleasure of undressing him—she wanted him right here, right now. She didn’t care that it was the middle of the afternoon. She didn’t care that the curtains weren’t drawn, either; they were on the top floor and the muslin net at the windows was thick enough that nobody would see them. Though at the same time it was thin enough that the warm summer light flooded the room and hid nothing.
He had beautiful shoulders. Beautiful arms, too; she could feel the muscles, like thick ropes, telling her how strong he was.
Strong enough to pick her up—as if he were carrying her over the threshold—and carry her to the bed.
With every touch, every brush of his lips against her body, he was stoking her temperature higher and higher. Exploring. Teasing. Tasting. When his mouth closed around one nipple and sucked, hard, the shiver of pleasure slid all the way down her body, and she pushed her fingers into his hair, urging him on.
When he traced a lazy path down her midriff with the tip of his tongue, she was practically hyperventilating. And when he parted her thighs and she felt his breath warm against her sex, every nerve in her body tingled.
She could have screamed in frustration when, instead of stroking his tongue right along the spot where she needed
it most, he kissed his way down her thigh to the back of her knee.
‘If you tease me much longer, I’m going to…’ Her breath hitched.
‘Is that meant to be a threat?’ He moved across to the other knee, caressing the sensitive spot in a way that aroused her but made her want so much more.
‘N-no.’ What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she get the words out? ‘I…’ OK. One at a time, with deep breaths in between. ‘Want. You. To.’ Her whole body quivered.
‘Touch you?’ he guessed. ‘Here?’
The lightest caress over her clitoris. Right where she wanted to be touched—but the pressure was too light to be anything more than teasing.
‘M-more.’ Her voice was shaking, and she pushed herself harder against his hand.
He slid one finger into her. ‘Better?’
‘No.’
He added a second finger. ‘How about now?’
‘N-no. Stop.’
He removed his hand. ‘OK.’
‘No!’ She opened her eyes and glared at him.
‘“Stop” usually means “no”,’ he reminded her.
‘I was trying to say,’ she told him through gritted teeth, ‘stop teasing me.’
His gaze went hot. ‘Then why don’t you tell me what you want?’
She felt the colour shoot into her face. ‘I…’
‘Shy?’
That did it. She sat up and pushed him onto the bed. ‘Better than telling. I’ll show you.’
‘I love it when you go bossy on me.’
He’d be laughing on the other side of his face in a minute, she vowed. Because she’d tease him just the way he’d teased her. Drive him to the point of begging. She kissed her way down his body, and was rewarded by a shudder.
Good.
She hadn’t finished, yet. Not by a long way.
She drew a circle round his navel with the tip of her tongue. Followed the arrowing of hair downwards—and swerved just before she reached the tip of his penis.
He sucked in a breath. ‘Jane. You’re…’
Ha. Right where she wanted him. Just this side of incoherent. She breathed along his erection, and even though his hands tangled in her hair and his breath came in little shuddering gasps, begging her to go that bit further, she kept that tiny, all-important distance.
‘Jane.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘I’m…going…to…’
‘Is that meant to be a threat?’ She tossed his words back at him.
‘No. Begging. Janey. Please.’
She straddled him. Took him in one hand. And slowly, slowly eased herself onto him. Millimetre by millimetre. Watching the expression on his face, all the while; seeing desire mingle with pleasure and wonder and delight.
‘Oh, yes.’ His voice had dropped an octave and the words sounded as if they came through sandpaper. ‘Do you have any idea how good you feel—?’
He stopped speaking as she began to move. And he laced his fingers through hers, pushing up as she pushed down, his eyes intense as he looked at her.
She knew the exact moment he lost control.
Because it was the same for her, too.
And when the peak hit them both, he sat up, wrapped his arms round her and kissed her as if he were drowning and she were his last breath of oxygen.
They didn’t get out of bed for the rest of the day. Except for Mitch to grab his mobile phone and order a Chinese take-away. Which they ate in bed, too.
She was warm and comfortable just lying there in his arms, listening to a classical music station on the radio. But tomorrow was Monday and life had to go back to normal.
Regretfully, she pressed a kiss onto his chest and sat up. ‘I really should go home.’
‘Why?’
‘I have work tomorrow. And I assume you do too.’
‘Mmm.’ He stroked her hair. ‘Any chance you can get some time off, this week? Even if it’s just a day?’
‘I’ll talk to my boss. It depends on who else is off.’
‘Uh-huh. You know, you could go to work from here tomorrow,’ he suggested, clearly as unwilling for her to leave as she was.
‘I haven’t got my office clothes here. Or clean underwear. Or…’
He sat up too and held her close. ‘OK. I’ll meet you from work tomorrow, then. We can go to the cinema, then for a meal somewhere.’
‘That’d mean a late night.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t do late nights when I have to get up for work the next morning.’
He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘This is nearer the West End than your place is—so if you stayed here tomorrow night, it wouldn’t mean a late night for you. When I run you home, you can pack an overnight bag and give it to me to bring back here for tomorrow.’
‘I…’
He rubbed his hand along the top of her arm. ‘How about if I let you choose the film?’
‘You’d sit through a chick-flick?’ she challenged. That was so not his type of thing. He’d go for an action movie, she was sure.
‘Given enough ice cream, and the fact I’ll be spending the night with you afterwards—yep, I think I can sit through a chick-flick.’ He sounded amused.
‘OK. And you’ll come in and meet my housemates tonight?’
‘When I’ve taken you home, I have work to do.’
Yet again he’d backed away from being part of her life.
This really wasn’t going to work.
Her tension must have communicated itself to him, because he nuzzled her cheek. ‘Jane. Stop worrying. Everything’s going to be just fine.’
Over the next couple of days, Jane began to feel as if their relationship was becoming real. Becoming stronger. Mitch met her from work the following evening, as they’d arranged, and, even though she could tell he was bored to tears and he barely laughed once, he sat through the romantic comedy she’d chosen without moaning.
‘You hated it, didn’t you?’ she asked when they’d ordered their meal.
He gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘Yes. But you know what they say—no pain, no gain.’
‘That’s aerobics.’
His smile grew positively wicked. ‘Exactly.’
Though their lovemaking that night wasn’t energetic and exhausting. It was slow and gentle and so tender that it made her want to cry. Because this felt like more than just sex. It felt like a declaration of love.
On Tuesday night, Mitch met her from work; again, they had dinner out, and had a stroll by the river, but he took her back home in a taxi and made sure she was indoors safely before he let the taxi drive off again.
He hadn’t spoken once about the baby since that first evening back. Then again, this time round he’d said he wanted to take it slowly. Maybe he just needed time with her to get used to the idea. Maybe he was coming round—realising that he was going to be a father.
The tiniest flicker of hope lit her from within. And maybe, just maybe, this was going to work out
On Wednesday—seeing as she’d managed to get the day off—he actually came over to her place.
‘You’re scared of them, aren’t you?’ Jane teased as she answered the door to him.
‘Who?’
‘My housemates. You’ve been waiting until they’re at work before you came over. Supposing one of them was off sick or had changed shifts?’
‘Be still, my quaking knees,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’m not scared of them at all. It’s just my time’s limited and I want to spend it with you.’
But he let her show him round and made all the right noises. Until he saw her room.
‘It’s the furthest from the bathroom.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s fine.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ he said. ‘You’re up and down at night like a yo-yo.’
She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘That’ll pass.’
‘And it’s tiny. It’s not a room, it’s a shoebox.’
‘I like my room,’ she said defensively.
‘It’s very nice,’ he said, clearly trying to placa
te her. ‘But it’s tiny. And that bed…it’s not even a full-width single bed.’
‘It’s fine.’
‘It’s the sort of bed a student would have.’
She shrugged. ‘I think this used to be a student house.’
‘You’re not a student any more,’ he pointed out.
True. She had a job. And she was going to be a single mother, in a few months’ time.
Well, she’d cope. She had her housemates to support her. She’d be fine.
Though his comments about her room cast a bit of a shadow over the day. Why was he making such a fuss about it, when he wasn’t even going to be around?
She forced herself to smile when he took her to a modern art gallery.
‘What’s up?’ he asked, giving her a sidelong glance.
‘Nothing.’
‘You don’t like modern art?’
‘I’m a bit more traditional,’ she admitted. Put her in the British Library among the illuminated manuscripts and Books of Hours, and she was in heaven. Cubism and abstracts just didn’t speak to her in the same way.
‘I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Though bear with me here as there’s one thing I wanted to show you—it’s amazing.’ He talked her through several other pieces, getting her to view them in a slightly different light when she thought of them in terms of colour and shape and texture.
And then he paused in the doorway. As if he were waiting for her reaction.
She glanced through and saw immediately what he wanted her to see: a huge orangey-yellow disc, backlit. Like a rising sun. And there was something really elemental about it.
‘That’s beautiful.’
‘It’s chalcedony. It looks fabulous from a distance. But close up it’s just as interesting because you can see impurities in the stone that look like sunspots. And the way the light works through the stone…’
Clearly this was something that touched a nerve with him. She wasn’t sure why—but she was glad he’d wanted to share his sense of wonder with her.
She tried to blank the thought as soon as it formed, but it seeped insidiously through into her head. A sense of wonder. Would Mitch ever share her sense of wonder about the baby?
There was no point in asking him because she knew he wouldn’t discuss it. But by the end of the day she knew he’d let her a little bit closer. Maybe all he needed was time.
