The Midwife's Son. Sue MacKayЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER ONE

      JESSICA BAXTER STARED at the champagne glass twirling between her thumb and forefinger. It was empty. Again. How had that happened? Best fill it up. She reached for the bottle nestled in ice in the silver bucket beside her.

      ‘You planning on drinking that whole bottle all by yourself?’ The groomsman sat down beside her, his steady green gaze fixed on her. Eyes so similar to his sister Sasha’s, yet far more dramatic. The way they were sizing her up at this moment sent shivers of anticipation through her. But it was more likely she had whipped cream and strawberry compote on her nose rather than anything earth-shatteringly sensual going on.

      Her finger shook as she wiped the top of her nose. Nope. All clear of dessert. So what was fascinating Jackson Wilson so much that his head seemed to have locked into position and his eyes forgotten how to move? Maybe if she answered him he’d get moving again.

      So she told him, ‘Yes.’ Every last drop.

      ‘Then I’ll have to get my own bottle. Shame to have to move, though.’ Jackson smiled at her, long and slow, making her feel as though she was the only person in the marquee. The only woman at least.

      Which was blatantly untrue. Apart from Sasha, who was looking absolutely fabulous in a cream silk wedding gown, there had to be half the female population of Golden Bay in this marquee. Hadn’t Sasha said she wanted a small wedding? Define small. Jess looked at the bottle in her hand. Had she drunk too much? Not yet. ‘This has to be the best champagne I’ve ever tasted. Your father went all out.’

      ‘Can’t argue with that.’

      She wasn’t looking for an argument. Her mouth curved upwards. Just some more champagne. The bubbles sped to the surface as she refilled her glass. The sight was enough to turn a girl on. If you were the kind that got turned on easily. Which she definitely wasn’t. Her eyes cruised sideways, spied Jackson’s legs stretched far under the table, and stilled. Well-toned thighs shaped his black evening trousers to perfection. Her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth, her skin warmed, and somewhere below her waist she felt long-forgotten sensations of desire. Maybe she was that kind of girl after all.

      She lifted the bottle in Jackson’s direction. ‘Got a glass?’

      ‘Of course.’ He presented one with a flourish. ‘I never go unprepared.’ That gaze had returned, stuck on her, apparently taking in every detail of her face.

      She paused halfway through filling his glass, raising a well-styled eyebrow. ‘Has my mascara run or something?’

      Jackson shook his head. ‘Nope.’

      Spinach in my teeth? Except spinach hadn’t featured on the wedding dinner menu. So what was he looking at? Looking for? Jackson Wilson had never taken much notice of her before. They hadn’t even liked each other much during the two years she had gone to school here; both had been too busy trying to steal the limelight.

      The last time she’d seen him had been at their school graduation party. Thirteen years ago. He’d been the guy every girl had wanted to date. She’d been the girl everybody had invited to their parties because she could supply anything money could buy. They’d never hooked up.

      ‘Hey, stop.’ He said it quietly, in that bone-melting voice of his. ‘My glass runneth over.’

      ‘What?’ Eek. Bad move. She’d been so distracted she’d started pouring again without realising. So unlike her. Worse, he knew exactly what she was distracted by—him. Suck it up, and get over him. He’s a minor diversion.

      Jackson raised his fingers to his mouth and lapped up the champagne. Had he heard her telling herself to suck it up? She shivered deliciously. The gesture was done so naturally that she had to presume Jackson hadn’t meant it as a sexual come-on. But, then, why would it be? She’d be the last female on earth he’d come on to. They probably still wouldn’t get on very well; she was a solo mum, he was used to glamorous, sexy ladies who didn’t sport stretch marks on their tummies.

      Wait up. He’d only been