The Surgeon's Special Delivery. Fiona LoweЧитать онлайн книгу.
being eight and a half months pregnant. Dusting off her imperious doctor’s voice, which she hadn’t used in a long time, she straightened her shoulders. ‘Who are you and why do you have a key?’
He tilted his head to the side, the light picking up streaks of silver in his jet-black hair. His high cheekbones carried the gauntness of fatigue and black stubble lined his strong jaw, giving him a renegade look. For the second time in as many minutes his gaze zeroed in on her as if he was seeing past her face and down into her essence, the place she kept hidden away. Goosebumps tangoed with sweat as hot and cold simultaneously raced through her.
He didn’t move from the doorway but his innate aura of command radiated through his posture and his voice. ‘I’m Callum Halroyd. Who are you and why are you in my brother’s house?’
Tess stared in disbelief at the man she’d heard scant mention of and had never met. Blood rushed from her head as her last window of make-believe vanished before her eyes. Tomorrow had just arrived.
* * *
Cal gazed at the heavily pregnant woman in front of him and watched the blood drain from her elfin face. Hell, he’d scared the living daylights out of her. Striding into the kitchen, he pulled out a chair. ‘Perhaps you should sit down.’
The woman stayed where she was, swaying slightly, her hand curled tightly around the turn of the bench.
Damn it, the last thing he needed after a twenty-four-hour flight, ninety minutes in a helicopter and a heart-breaking time with his aging and grief-stricken parents, was a pregnant woman fainting on him. He moved slowly toward her, his palms open in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Please, you really do need to sit down.’ He gently put his hand over hers, planning to release her fingers so he could guide her into the chair.
An unexpected blast of heat burst through him as his palm connected with the back of her hand. That was strange and unexpected. Jet-lag and grief had obviously affected his body’s thermostat.
She quickly pulled her hand out from under his. ‘Thanks, I’ll be fine once I sit down.’
As she turned toward the proffered chair, strands of short honey-blonde hair swept across his cheek, trailing a scent of fresh coconut and tropical fruits. He had the craziest desire to close his eyes and breathe in deeply to banish the scent of war and pain that had taken up residence without him realising it.
He gave himself a shake and quickly filled a glass with water.
She spoke softly. ‘So you’re James’s brother?’
‘Yes, I think we established that.’ He offered the glass to the unknown woman. ‘And you are…?’
She accepted the glass with her left hand and he realised she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Still, pregnant women often had to remove their rings due to fluid accumulation so that meant very little.
Wide brown eyes appraised him while she slowly sipped her water, the action disconcerting him. He wasn’t used to being kept waiting. He was a surgeon—he called the shots and everyone else jumped.
She lowered her glass and placed it on the bench, before reaching out and touching his arm. ‘I’m so very sorry for your loss.’
My loss. He rubbed his forehead, rubbing the ache that had permanently throbbed since he’d heard the news.
‘James and Carolyn were my dearest friends and I’ve been staying with them for a few months while…’ She blinked rapidly.
He stifled a sigh. Typical James. He took in waifs and strays and Carolyn actively encouraged him. Now, as well as sorting out the estate, he had a pregnant, homeless woman on his hands. Yet another thing for him to organise as there was no way his parents were up to it.
He’d hardly recognised them at the airport. It was like they’d had the stuffing knocked out of them. Normally sheer energy and drive radiated from both of them, the characteristics that had made them millions from self-storage. But his usually in-control father had deferred every decision to Cal and his mother had just sat stoically silent, holding her husband’s hand.
He cleared his throat. ‘What about a cup of tea? God knows, I need one.’
A quiet smile stole across her heart-shaped face. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. White, no sugar, please. The tea’s in the canister by the kettle.’
‘And I remember that three years ago the cups were kept in the cupboard over the sink.’
She nodded. ‘They’re still there.’
He plugged in the kettle and spied the partially opened Tim Tams. He smiled at the memory of the luscious chocolate biscuit that his mother would allow to celebrate gold stars on homework. ‘I haven’t had a Tim Tam in years.’
She arched her eyebrows in mock horror. ‘Why on earth not? They’re the panacea for all ills.’
He heard himself laugh and a kernel of feeling other than sorrow opened up inside him. ‘I haven’t been living in places where supermarkets stock them. Actually, I haven’t been living in places with supermarkets, full stop.’ The kettle shut off and he poured the boiling water over the fragrant leaves.
‘Where have you come from?’
He caught her gaze on his rumpled clothes. ‘Africa.’
She smiled, her eyes taking on the warm hues of polished oak. ‘James said you were busy saving the world.’
His hand tightened on the handle of the teapot as he poured the aromatic brew into fine, white cups, her words bringing back the last fraught conversation he and James had shared over three years ago. He didn’t want to think about that. Not now.
‘Well, I don’t know about saving the world but I work for Frontline Aid. I go where I’m needed.’
‘And now you’re needed here.’ She ran her hand over her swollen belly, in a caress than radiated love.
A sense of unease that he couldn’t explain burrowed into him, pushing deep. ‘I’m just here for the funeral and to help execute the will, although one of Dad’s company lawyers can handle most of it. That’s why I left Mum and Dad at the motel and came over to the house tonight. I need to find James’s will and get the ball rolling.’ He placed her steaming cup on the bench next to her.
She bit her lip, as her high forehead creased in thought. ‘So once you’ve seen to that, you’ll leave? What about your parents?’
He frowned, not liking her accusatory tone. She surely had enough to worry about with her own situation without judging him. ‘I’ll certainly spend some time with my parents but they understand my work is overseas.’
She traced the handle of her cup with her forefinger. ‘So there’s nothing to keep you here?’
‘In Narranbool?’ He laughed, unable to hide his derision. ‘Not bloody likely.’ Narranbool with its heat, dust and shrivelled wheat crops had been James’s choice—one he himself had never understood.
Her shoulders stiffened and her chin tilted up as she shot him a look that reminded him so much of James and Carolyn that she could have been channelling them.
Contrition niggled at him and he sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but small country towns and I are not a match. In fact, Australia and I are no longer a match, and I’m not sure we ever really were. For as long as I can remember I’ve looked beyond this “wide brown land”, I’m an expat through and through.’
She nodded slowly and then grazed her plump bottom lip with her top teeth.
Try as he may to pull his gaze away, it stayed riveted on the moist lushness. What would those rosy lips taste like?
The random thought shocked him. It was official—exhaustion had made him lose control of all common sense. He was a world-renowned trauma surgeon. He didn’t lust after homeless, pregnant women.
She sipped her tea, her expression