The Baby Project, page 6
“I’m fine,” she said. “No big deal.”
She was such a liar. The tears were already stinging behind her eyes, and only her steely will kept them at bay. At a time when she’d never felt so alone, suddenly having him here gave her an indescribable sense of relief. She continued her death grip.
He bent to plant a kiss on her knuckles. Then another. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the absolute comfort of his touch, this man who stirred way too many complex emotions within her.
“Grant, I-I’m not sure this is the right thing to do,” she said, swallowing hard.
“It’s not like you to say that,” he said. His voice was gentle, soft, and so calming it nearly did make her cry. Damn hormones.
“I’m afraid I can’t do this on my own,” she said. “Maybe it’s not fair to a child to do this on my own.” What if she wasn’t strong enough, tender enough, anything enough?
“Raising a child is really nothing compared to combating polio in Nigeria or delivering a baby in the back of a bus at Disney World.” His lips turned up the slightest bit.
His attempt at humor made her smile. And the fact that he’d remembered the Disney story from when she’d told him a long while ago. “It’s one thing to act in the moment and a whole other thing to raise a child for eighteen years,” she said.
“I have no doubt that you’ll be a fantastic mum.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you for your vote of confidence.”
“Sometimes the best things in life are the scariest, yes?” he said, his beautiful mouth quirking up in a smile. And that smile…it reached his eyes. Lit them up. His frown lines lifted, the near scowl he wore so often disappeared, and he was…wow. A beautiful man.
He reached out and smoothed back her hair, an incredibly tender gesture that took her completely by surprise.
The door opened, everyone returning. “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Wilbanks,” the nurse said. “Sorry, I mean Dr. Kingston and Mr. Wilbanks. I mean—” She stumbled on finding the words to define their relationship. Well, good luck with that. God knew, Liz couldn’t even begin to herself.
Grant’s gaze didn’t leave Liz’s face as he suddenly bent his tall frame over the exam table. She closed her eyes as his lips touched her forehead. They were warm and soft, and for a minute she was enveloped by his clean scent, something spicy and wonderful, and she was filled with a strange, spreading warmth that felt so good it made her want to cry for the tenth time that morning.
“Good luck,” he whispered, then got up and left the room.
“I’m so sorry about that, Dr. Kingston,” the nurse said, still seeming embarrassed about the name thing. “I wasn’t sure if I should let him in—”
Yeah, Liz thought. She wasn’t, either.
Sometimes the best things in life are the scariest.
Maybe Grant was right. Knowing that he was all right with this and that he’d cared enough to come be with her calmed her a little, but she still felt terrified. How would she ever know if this was the right thing? How did you ever know if any big decision you ever made in life was the right thing?
You just had faith and plunged in.
“Okay,” she said, looking at the doctor and Brett, who’d walked back in and now stood beside her. “I’m ready to do this.”
…
The next Saturday, Grant had been working in his aunt’s garden, a.k.a. the jungle, for quite some time when Liz walked out of the house wearing a large, floppy sun hat with cut-off jean shorts. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, those gold hoops twinkling in her ears.
He stopped in the heat to wipe his forehead with his forearm and assess her. Even though she was dressed to weed, it horrified him to realize she was quite possibly the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was a natural beauty without fussing, with pretty legs and an amazing smile. Full lips perfect for kissing. And a nice rack. She was a bit pale, though. Too much time indoors.
She was carrying a pitcher and two big plastic cups, and had a pair of bright-yellow garden gloves tucked under her arm. Cute. Great ass, too.
He shook his head to strike the lusty thoughts from his head. To say that things between them were a bit complicated was the underestimation of the century.
Remember the agreement. No involvement. No interference. That was the way she wanted it. His life abroad was waiting. Besides, she needed a less damaged man who could be the husband and father he would not ever be capable of being.
“I see you aren’t taking any chances with sunburn,” he said, inhaling the coconut smell of sunblock. “SPF one hundred?”
“If you’re going to poke fun at me, I’m taking my lemonade back.”
He rested his hands on the garden hoe. “I’m so impressed. You do have culinary skills after all.”
“Look, I was feeling sorry for you, all”—she waved her hand up and down in front of him—“sweaty and everything. But I can see my offer of friendship is falling on deaf ears.”
He was sweaty, so much so he’d taken off his shirt. Judging by the way she was eyeballing his chest, she appeared to be liking what she saw. Quite a lot. And that pleased him inordinately.
She mock-turned to go but he caught her elbow. A mistake, because her skin was so soft he let his touch linger for just a moment too long. Their gazes locked and that same familiar zing vibrated through him.
That day in the doctor’s office, something had changed between them. Something raw and bone-deep that he couldn’t quite explain and didn’t want to think too hard about. All week, she’d waved to him from afar as she came and went, but had otherwise steered clear of interacting. Judging by the way she stepped back and broke eye contact, he sensed she was feeling it, too.
“I’m actually a pretty good cook,” she said. “I just don’t have time. Meals are so…complicated.”
“Cooking isn’t complicated. It’s relaxing and easy. I quite enjoy it.”
She made a face.
Ah yes. She didn’t have time for many things, did she? As far as he could tell, her entire life was work. Not that he himself didn’t keep long, wearying hours. But he seemed able to turn off work and turn on a bit of fun a lot more adeptly than she did. It was a skill he imagined she’d have to learn someday if she was to be a mother.
He could show her that a life with a bit more balance was a lot more fun. It suddenly occurred to him that he was staring at her mouth. Yes, he knew plenty of ways to take her mind off her work, indeed.
Another thought sobered him and rested heavily in the air between them. She might be carrying my child.
He pushed it away. What he’d done was a simple favor, nothing more. It was obvious from the way she’d avoided him all week that she felt the same way. In a few weeks, she’d be nothing but a memory again. That was what he wanted, right?
“How are you feeling today?” he asked. Her surprisingly broad smile struck him right in the gut. She seemed…excited, bubbly, happy.
“You know, Grant,” she said, “I feel great. No matter what happens, I feel that I’ve taken a positive step forward.”
“Bravo,” he said. Silence filled the space between them. He genuinely hoped things would work out for her and she would get the baby she wanted. “Is everything going all right with—your health?” That sounded awful. “What I mean is—”
“I understand what you’re asking.” She poured him some lemonade. “Next week I’ll find out if it worked. Crossing my fingers and toes.”
“Excellent.” Could things possibly get more awkward?
He drained his drink, set down the cup, and returned to tilling the dirt. “Thank you for the lemonade.”
“You’re welcome.” She pointed to a massive patch of weeds. “How about if I start over there?”
“You actually came out here to weed?”
“Well, I’m off today and I saw you out here sweating and probably dying of thirst and thought you could maybe use some help. I thought it might be…fun.”
He lifted a brow. “I wasn’t aware you knew that word.”
She made a face and placed her hands on her hips. “Do you want me to stay, or don’t you?”
“Okay, frankly, yes. I’d love you to stay. And help,” he quickly added.
He walked over and rummaged in a bucket and pulled out some seed packets.
“Here you are. We’re planting sunflowers in the middle, and the zinnias on either side. And these little tomato plants will go a little farther down, in the sunny section.”
Liz laughed as she took the packets.
“And what, pray tell, is so funny?”
“To-mah-toes. You Brits…so proper.” She’d laid out the seed packets and was studying them intently. If she had any idea that the thoughts running through his head were anything but proper…like running his hand up that smooth, shapely leg, of touching that fine, shapely ass, of toppling her onto the sweet, cool grass and kissing her until they forgot all about the past. Started new, with a clean slate.
Well. He’d had her once and he’d blown it, badly. It would be a terrible mistake to suggest such a thing again. Especially in light of their agreement. Muddying those waters would be disastrous.
So Grant decided to be a gentleman. He walked around to where she was kneeling in the grass and bent down beside her. “Can I show you how it’s done?” His shoulder grazed hers and again he felt a stab of longing that made his chest ache. If only things had been different. If only they really could start over. If only he had something more to offer her.
Her eyes grew bright. Clearly, she loved to learn…anything. “Yes. Teach me.”
He frowned. “Didn’t you ever plant seeds as a child?”
“Did you plant seeds as a child?”
“In Boy Scouts.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That’s what it’s called in Britain, too. What’s your excuse?”
She shrugged. “I always had my nose stuck in a book. My sister Cat’s the one who knows how to garden and cook and decorate and put up wallpaper and all that stuff. I’m clueless around the house.”
“Yes, I’ve rather noticed that.” He’d seen her solitary chair, her lack of decor, her massive mail pile, her bare refrigerator shelves.
He made a shallow tunnel in the dirt that he’d tilled and mixed with peat and fertilizer. “All you have to do is drop the seeds in. Two together, in case one doesn’t germinate, this far apart.”
He had to move away, because she smelled like clean hair and soap and suntan lotion, and he was about to devour her whole, right in the middle of the damn tom-AH-to plants.
“Is that how to do it?” she asked.
Oh, he could show her how to do it, all right. Thought was difficult over the pounding of his pulse in his ears. His dick was rock hard and his pants were tight and the thought of kissing her, tasting the sun and salt on her skin, consumed every thought.
Sweat broke out on his brow. “I believe you’ve got it.” Their hands touched in the dirt, sending a little shock up his arm. He understood that he had to leave, put some distance between them. But just then, in the act of digging another hole, he accidentally flicked some dirt on her forearm.
“Um, excuse me,” she said a little indignantly.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, biting back a grin.
“Did you do that on purpose?”
“My, my. Someone has a bit of a temper.” She looked gorgeous with her eyes narrowed down at him, fake outrage in her eyes.
When she went back to work, he did it again, this time on purpose. And this time it got in her hair.
She shook her head and flicked her hands through her hair to bat it out. “I just washed my hair, Grant. If it lands in there again, I swear…”
Flick again. Jackpot.
She launched herself at him, effectively tackling him to the ground. Then she was in his arms, on top of him, her silky hair loose and tumbling around him, her breasts pushing against him, their legs tangling. They both went still, her face inches above his. Their gazes locked. He could hear nothing except the incessant whooshing of blood in his ears.
If she were any other woman, he wouldn’t have hesitated to have his mouth on her and have her under him in five seconds or less. But he understood the stakes. She was off-limits. He tried desperately to envision her being a surgeon, slicing someone’s abdomen open for an emergency C-section, or catching a newborn like it was a football, anything to get his mind off what was happening between them. But all his imagery failed. He got lost in the depths of her eyes, her lips as they curved into the slightest smile, and the lush softness of her breasts against his chest.
He wanted her on top of him, under him, with him. Naked, as they had been on those warm African nights with the billions of stars twinkling overhead and the hum of cicadas beyond the window. After seconds of paralysis, he curled his hand around her neck and looked into her eyes. That same feeling overflowed within him, that same connection he’d always felt. Only she had the ability to throw him so off-kilter, throw off his common sense.
He understood all the reasons he’d laid out so carefully that she was not someone to get involved with again. But right now, he didn’t give a fuck. Common sense be damned.
He tugged her downward, heard her breath hitch. As their lips finally made contact he saw the fire in her eyes, saw her lips part, saw that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her.
“Liz,” he whispered, just before his mouth slammed down on hers at last.
She tasted like sweet, tart lemons and heaven. He slid his lips over hers, adjusting the angle of his mouth to cover hers more fully. Then he possessed her, tasting her, sliding his tongue against hers, pleased when she let out the slightest moan. She kissed him back just as eagerly, her tongue dancing with his, wet and hot.
He ran his hands down her beautiful back, warm from the sunny day, settled them on her hips, slid them under her T-shirt on her bare back. How could anything be as soft? Her breath hitched, her hands traveling over his chest, roaming all over him until she wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed herself against him. The kisses got frantic, deeper and faster and wilder, until Grant stopped noticing the clods of dirt pressing into his back.
A sound made him startle. Someone clearing his throat. He clutched Liz protectively and dragged his lips off of hers. Standing in the grass, ten feet away, were an older, balding man and a pregnant blond woman holding a one-eyed dog.
…
“Liz?” her sister Cat said in a tone that questioned Liz’s identity and sanity at the same time. Cat was the only one in the family she’d confided to last year about her affair with Grant and she was praying she’d forgotten. But judging from the disdain Cat had packed into that one word, Liz instantly knew she remembered it all. At least Cat was her nice sister, always with a good word for everyone, kind to pets and children…
“Grant Wilbanks?” Cat said. “Oh, Liz.”
Okay, she took that back. Maybe she wasn’t the nice sister after all.
Before Liz could get up, the dog strained and tugged in Cat’s arms until she finally let him down. He bolted over to Liz, licking her face excitedly and wagging his stumpy tail in glee.
“Gizmo,” she said, scratching him behind the ears, which she happened to know was his own personal crack. The dog automatically went belly up, begging for more.
As she stroked his wiry coat, she wondered why dogs had no trouble asking for exactly what they want, or showing affection to people they love, unlike humans, who always seemed to make everything so complicated.
Grateful for the distraction to take a breath or two, she slid her gaze over to Grant, who stood there quietly, looking completely unfazed. Even shirtless and in shorts, he looked commanding. Not a hair out of place, his rippled muscles unashamedly catching the sunlight. The only evidence of their—er, indiscretion—was the slight turn-up of one side of his mouth.
A smile. He was amused by this…this disaster.
Liz tried to get it together in light of the fact that her dad thought God-knew-what and he’d think even worse when she told him she and Grant weren’t even involved. That she was making out in the grass with someone because…well, because she couldn’t help it. That would go over well. Her father was still standing there with his mouth open, and she still had dirt clumps on her shorts, which she brushed briskly off.
If only she could stop shaking. If only she could keep her heart from tripping, her words from stumbling. Her hat was gone and she was certain her hair was a disaster. There was a grass stain on her shirt.
She lassoed in every nerve to force her composure, and the effort seemed harder than her worst day in the OR. “Grant, meet my dad and my sister, Cat. And of course you’ve already heard of Gizmo.” On hearing his name, Gizmo jumped up and down, eager for more affection. Liz stroked the dog’s head, and he rubbed up against her leg in a pet me more, more, more move.
She had no idea why he’d zeroed in on her as The Chosen One, but he sure as hell was doing a hard marketing push for adoption. She reckoned an outsider always recognized a kindred spirit.
Cat, God love her, was the first to extend her hand to Grant. “Hi,” she said cheerily, even if her real feelings toward him were probably anything but. “We talked before on the phone. When Gizmo went AWOL the other week.”
“A pleasure,” Grant said, taking her hand. He said it in that deep, velvety, British way. Liz half expected him to kiss Cat’s hand. Instead, he offered his hand to Liz’s father.
“Mr. Kingston. Great to meet you.”
“Please, call me Henry, son,” her dad said, offering a hearty handshake and a smile. Liz shot her dad a grateful look. Henry Kingston gave everyone a fair chance, and he liked everybody until there was a good reason not to. Her father didn’t go wild over Grant’s famous face or embarrass him with exclamations about not being able to believe who he was. Her dad was always impressed by character, not fame.
“Anyway,” Cat said, “Dad came over for a visit and we decided to walk over and invite you out. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a nice family dinner and we haven’t seen you in ages.”
