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He’d wanted—needed—to reassure her that none of this was her fault. The only way to do that was to tell her about Chad. To tell her why he couldn’t go through all that again.
Her unborn child—it was a source of joy for her.
For him … For him it was a constant source of torment, reminding him of everything he’d had and then lost, reminding him of the gaping hole at the centre of himself that nothing could fill. In losing Chad he’d lost the best part of himself.
If there’d ever been a best part of himself.
He didn’t want another child.
He didn’t want to love another child.
He’d given Chad everything—his time, his care, all the love in his heart. But it hadn’t been enough. Jacqui had still left. He’d still lost the child he loved.
He wasn’t going through that a second time.
Losing Chad had proved something that deep down he’d always known but had never wanted to believe—he didn’t have what it took to be a family man. He refused to hide from the hard facts now. He could not give Kit what she so badly wanted—a stable and loving family unit.
What was the point in trying when he’d only lose it all again anyway?
Not hiding from the hard facts again? He gave a mirthless laugh. His demand for a paternity test was a lie, a blind, an excuse to hide behind. Kit wasn’t lying. Her baby was his. He just didn’t want to believe it, that was all. Kit didn’t care about his money and she sure as hell didn’t see him as a great catch. She’d prefer it if he wasn’t her baby’s father.
He rested his head against the trunk of the tree. Jacqui had taken Chad away from him without a backward glance. There were no guarantees that Kit wouldn’t do the same. Eventually.
He would not relive that nightmare. Not for Kit. Not for anyone. If that made him a monster in her eyes, then so be it.
He loosened his grip on the tree to glance around the garden, which was partially illuminated by the light from the kitchen window. His gaze fell on the Cape Cod chair that Kit had been sanding the other day.
Do something useful.
He strode towards it. His mind worked best when his fingers were busy, and tonight he needed his mind to be at its peak.
Because, no matter what he told himself, he couldn’t just up and leave when the weekend rolled around. He might not be able to offer Kit emotional support, but he couldn’t abandon her with a house threatening to fall down around her ears either. Not when she was expecting a baby. He had to come up with a plan she’d go for and fast.
Because if he didn’t, once she received the all clear from her doctor tomorrow he may well find himself very politely thanked and very firmly asked to leave. And who’d make sure she had everything she needed then?
Kit woke early on Thursday morning. She tried to go back to sleep but the nerves leaping and jumping in her stomach wouldn’t let her.
Today she’d have her scan. Today she’d find out if her baby was okay.
A tap sounded on her bedroom door and Alex’s head poked around its corner. How did he always know when she was awake?
‘Good morning.’
She swallowed. He looked fresh and alert and good enough to eat. She pushed up against the pillows, dragged her hands back over her hair, tried to smooth it. ‘Morning.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine.’ Physically in herself, she was. She felt as if she’d never been sick in the first place.
But what if her high temperature had harmed her baby? What then? She knew worrying about that would do her no good, but not worrying was impossible.
Alex’s eyes narrowed. ‘Breakfast?’
She shook her head. She doubted she’d be able to keep anything down. ‘A cup of something hot and herbal would be great, though.’ Despite what the doctor had said, she’d given up caffeine the day she’d found out she was pregnant. She’d wanted to give her baby every chance.
Alex appeared with two mugs of … lemongrass tea. The fragrance made her stomach loosen a fraction. She accepted her mug with a lift of the lips that she hoped would pass for a smile. ‘You do know that I don’t mind if you drink coffee, don’t you? You don’t need to abstain just because I am.’
‘It doesn’t seem fair to drink it when you can’t. Besides, this lemon stuff is halfway decent.’ His nose wrinkled. ‘But you can keep that chamomile nonsense to yourself.’
She found herself chuckling, even amidst all the anxiety swirling through her.
‘Nervous, huh?’
She didn’t know how he’d sensed it. She’d thought she’d done a good job at covering it up. It seemed pointless trying to deny it, though. ‘A little.’
He surveyed her for a moment, set his mug on the floor and then leaned towards her. ‘Your temperature came down very quickly, Kit. You’ve had lots of rest, good food and medicine. You’re young, strong and the picture of health again. There’s no reason to believe that your baby isn’t strong and healthy too.’
She nodded. She knew he was right.
‘But?’ he said softly.
She set her mug on the bedside table as her stomach clenched up again. ‘Do you believe in fate, Alex?’
‘Not really.’
He didn’t pick his mug up again. He remained with elbows on knees, his full attention focused on her. For a moment it made her feel spotlighted—at the centre of his world. She shook herself.
‘Why?’ he asked.
She swallowed again, found her fingers had started pleating and unpleating the quilt. She gripped them together to still them. ‘Maybe I’m not fated to be a mother. I didn’t realize I was pregnant for three whole months. I drank caffeine and the occasional glass of wine, and … and I didn’t do stuff that I would’ve done had I known.’
He frowned. ‘Kit, you’re going to be just fine.’
‘Fine?’ Her voice rose. ‘How on earth can you say that? On Monday I didn’t even realize I was sick! Honestly, Alex, what does that say about me and the kind of mother I’m going to make?’ Her heart ached. She pressed her palms to her eyes for a moment before dragging them back into her lap. ‘It doesn’t reflect very well on me, does it? For heaven’s sake, I don’t even know how to change a nappy! Maybe …’ She gulped. ‘Maybe I’m not meant to be a mother.’
‘What the hell … ? No!’
Alex jumped up, knocking over his mug in the process. With a swift curse he tore off his T-shirt and used it to mop up the spill.
As a broad expanse of naked flesh met her gaze, Kit’s eyes went wide. She could feel them getting bigger and bigger as the space in her lungs for air became progressively smaller and smaller. Her thought processes slammed to a halt. Alex’s shoulders and chest and the sculpted line of his back—tanned, muscled and toned—all beckoned to her. She knew from experience how firm his skin would be to the touch. And how warm.
Her pulse skittered and skipped and skated through her veins.
‘Didn’t want the rug to stain,’ he said, his voice gruff as he glanced up at her.
She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, felt an answering tug in her womb as he rose to his feet and stood before her in all his half-naked glory. She remembered another time … Her stomach, her lips, her limbs softened.
Oh, dear Lord! She tried to catch her breath. ‘I … um … You didn’t need to ruin your shirt in the process.’
He lifted one powerful shoulder as he sat again, the T-shirt hanging negligently from his hands. ‘I’ll throw it in the wash later. It’ll be fine.’
The muscular definition of his biceps and the sinewy strength of his forearms had her melting against the bedclothes. He was so tanned. Had he worked beneath a hot African sun without his shirt?
‘You’re going to be a great mother, Kit.’
That dragged her attention back. His eyes had darkened to coal and they stared at her intensely as if by their very force they could compel her to believe his words.
‘What makes you so sure?’ she whispered. She wanted to believe him—desperately—but …
‘Look at how much effort you’re going to in order to provide your baby with the best life you can. You’ve moved back to this place that you love because you think it’s a good place to raise your child. You’ve bought a house and you’re getting it ready for your baby’s arrival. You’re surrounding your baby with a community of people who will love it almost as much as you will.’
She bit her lip.
‘Kit?’
She glanced up into those coal-dark eyes again.
‘You love your baby. That’s more important than knowing how to change a nappy or abstaining from caffeine or … or anything! You want to be a mother, right?’
She nodded.
‘Then you’re going to be just fine. You’ll learn all the things you need to know about being a mum along the way. You have your family and friends and your baby books to help you. You’ll probably make the odd mistake because you’re human like the rest of us, but it won’t mean you love your baby any less and it won’t make you a bad person. It certainly won’t make you a bad mother.’
She blinked, considered his words, and then sent him a shaky smile. ‘You’re right. Thank you. I’m sorry, I just panicked for a bit.’
‘Nothing to apologise for.’
He leaned back in his seat. It highlighted the flatness of his stomach and the way the muscles there coiled and flexed beneath his skin. Her gaze drifted downwards and she noted how the waistband of his jeans sat low on his hips. Her mouth and throat went dry.
‘There’s something I’d like to discuss with you, Kit. I was going to wait until after your doctor’s appointment, but that’s still hours away.’
She sensed that he wanted to distract her from brooding on her worries about her baby’s health. She started to lift her eyes, wanted to thank him again for easing her fears, but his chest and shoulders proved more of a distraction than his words. His chest started to rise and fall with a rhythm that matched hers. Her fingers clenched in the quilt. A pulse pounded at the base of his throat. Firm, lean lips opened. Heat swirled through her.
That magnificent body leapt up. Kit’s breath caught and she started to lean towards him—
‘I’ll be back in a moment.’
The words—hoarse with need—scraped out of his throat and caressed all the hairs on her arms into lifting as if in surrender. He surged out of her room, the muscles in his back rippling, and Kit melted back into her pillows, her mind too fuzzed to work.
He returned a moment later, dragging another shirt on over his head.
Heat of an entirely different variety burned her cheeks, her face, her throat then. She wanted to cover her head with the bedclothes. Instead she buried her face in her lukewarm mug of tea while Alex opened the bedroom window wider to let in the cool morning air and then busied himself with her CD player. Sounds of the Sea filtered into the room. He kept his back to her and she wondered if he was having as much trouble getting himself under control as she was.
Eventually she managed to clear her throat. ‘You wanted to talk to me about something?’
He turned then, moved his chair another foot or so away from her bed. If he kept doing that he’d end up in the bathroom.
He sat. ‘That’s right, I did.’
‘Well?’ she prompted when he didn’t continue.
‘Kit, do you have a job lined up yet?’
She stared. A job? And then she rolled her eyes. ‘You don’t need to worry about my finances. I had a very nice nest egg squirreled away before I left Sydney.’
‘Enough to cover expensive repairs on your house?’
She bit her lip and glanced away. She could get a bank loan.
When you don’t have a job. Ha! Fat chance.
Her stomach clenched and her pulse started to race. She’d better start job-hunting asap because she needed the house ready for when the baby came. She glanced back at Alex. She’d failed in providing her baby with a father. She couldn’t fail on this too. Alex had calmed her fears about her ability to be a good mother, but to prove she could be a good parent she had to get this house, and her life, on track fast. Finding a job was the first place to start.
‘Kit, I want to barter an exchange of labour with you.’
‘A …’ She stilled. ‘Why?’
‘Because I think it would be to both our benefits.’
An exchange of labour?
‘I’d really like you to finish that book project for McBride’s.’
‘Alex—’ she lifted her hands and then let them drop again ‘—there are any number of people at Hallam Enterprises more than capable of finishing that project. Didn’t you read my report?’
‘It was your passion that had that book offer tabled to us in the first place. It was your passion that sold me on the deal. It’s your passion that will make it a success.’
‘Your name on the cover will do that—your experience, your expertise.’
‘I can’t write the thing, though. You’re the one who translates all that so-called experience and expertise into a compelling, readable account. That’s where your expertise lies. We make a good team, Kit.’
She stilled at his words. A team—her and Alex?
‘I want you to finish overseeing the work on the book because you are the best person for the job. With an Internet connection here you can work remotely. You won’t need to go into the office.’
‘You said a barter of labour. What will you be doing?’
‘Fixing your house.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Alex, you’ve just returned from a month abroad. You can’t afford to take more time off work.’
His chin tilted at an arrogant angle. ‘It’s my company. I can do what I want. Besides, Donald has everything under control in the Sydney office.’ He shrugged and the arrogance vanished behind the beginnings of a smile. A wry smile admittedly, but potent for all that. ‘He’s doing a good job and I am only a phone call away if there’s an emergency.’
‘But …’ Her mind wouldn’t work.
‘I’ll fix the hole in your roof and the hole in your wall. I’ll repoint the piers on the southern side of the house and replace the guttering. I’ll check for dry rot and—’ his lips twisted ‘—not-so-dry rot. I’ll modernise the bathroom and give the whole place a lick of paint, inside and out.’
Her eyes widened as his list grew. Whatever he saw in her face made him leap to his feet and stalk over to the window, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
