The Surgeon's Proposal. Lilian DarcyЧитать онлайн книгу.
The first was instinct more than thought, and insisted, You’ll learn more from this than you ever learned from Alex. The second was an impatient need to reject the whole thing as dangerous, untrustworthy and insignificant.
The second feeling won.
‘You don’t mean it,’ she told Dylan flatly.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, she wrapped her arms across her body to try and stroke away the goose-bumps that had risen on her arms. Her nipples ached, and deep inside her there was a heaviness and a heat that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Definitely, she didn’t want any of it. Not now.
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You’re right. I don’t. But you thought about it, didn’t you?’ His eyes were still fixed on her face.
‘Not in the way you mean.’
Or, possibly, exactly in the way he’d meant.
Had he been aware of the vibe he’d given off? The potency of it? The delicious wickedness of it? The fact that she’d absorbed it, wrapped herself in it and reflected it right back at him? Or was he giving it off unconsciously?
‘Well, think about it some more,’ he said. Or, rather, ordered.
He took what had to be a scorching gulp of his coffee, without apparently noticing the heat. If he had a tendency not to notice heat, that was good, a relief…and a reprieve.
‘There’s no need to think about it any more,’ she said sharply. ‘Not for a second.’
‘I wonder.’
Meanwhile, Duncan had become bored with the car and truck game, and every vehicle he owned was now lined up on the coffee-table like a peak-hour traffic jam. ‘Go inna pool, Mummy?’ he said hopefully.
‘In a little while, love,’ she answered.
A swim would be great. Bruising, with the way Duncan liked to hurl himself off the edge and into her arms in the water. His eager little legs always collided painfully with her thighs as he held her tight and instinctively kicked like a frog beneath the water. But it would cool her down. The building heat in the air was extra sticky today.
Duncan had already run off in search of towels. He’d probably come back with six of them.
As soon as he had gone, Dylan asked curiously, ‘He calls you that? Mummy?’
Annabelle went on the defensive at once. ‘Mum and I talked about it. We agreed it would be best at this stage. He has no memory of Vic—my sister. We haven’t decided when we’ll tell him.’
‘Tell me how it happened,’ he invited quietly. ‘Do you mind?’
She stifled a sigh. Sometimes she did mind, especially when the questions were nosy, tactless or judgmental. But somehow Dylan Calford seemed to be in her life now, since yesterday. Arrogant in his presumptions, dictatorial in his advice. She was still angry about it, yet at the same time felt her usual over developed need to be fair. Beyond the arrogance, his desire to make amends as far as possible was apparently genuine.
Not that he can make amends, she considered inwardly. Is it the thought that counts? Aloud, she said, ‘No, I don’t mind. She’d gone trekking, and there was an accident. In Borneo. It was in the news. You might have read about it.’
He thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Mmm, yes, I remember now. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that was your sister.’
‘I didn’t want to talk about it much at work.’
‘It must have been hard. For you and your mother.’ They weren’t flowery words, but she appreciated the depth of sincerity behind them.
‘Still can’t believe it sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘Sometimes I—’ She broke off and shook her head.
Sometimes she’d hear a voice in a crowded shopping mall and instinctively turn her head because it sounded like Vic. Sometimes, with news or a funny anecdote to tell, she’d pick up the telephone and stop with her finger poised over the first digit of Vic’s old phone number, her whole body frozen and a stabbing pain in her stomach.
But she didn’t want to tell Dylan Calford about any of that. He didn’t prompt her to finish, and she felt a small stirring of gratitude for the fact.
‘And there was no father around?’ he asked after a moment.
‘Not one that we could trace. Vic never even told Mum and me his last name. He didn’t know about Duncan and wouldn’t have cared, Vic said. It was a holiday romance. She travelled a lot.’
‘The adventurous type. Like her son.’
‘I’m starting to see that, yes, although at the end of a long day, I always blame his father for the high energy levels!’
‘How do you deal with it? How do you know that your full-time care will be better than a child-care centre?’ Evidently he remembered exactly what she’d said to him yesterday.
‘Because I love him. I…’ she searched for the right word ‘…champion him, in a way those very nice girls—really, they’re very nice—at child-care just don’t have time for, with their ratio of one adult to five kids.’
‘That high?’
‘It’s standard,’ she answered. ‘I believe in him, and know him well enough to bring out the best in him. I understand what he’s trying to tell me, which some people don’t. His speech isn’t very clear yet, and that frustrates him. I have the time and care to head off his difficult behaviour, and I know when he’s overdosed on other kids and needs some time to himself. We go to the park for hours, and just run each other down as if we were two little toys in one of those battery commercials on television. He sleeps well, if an hour or two less than most kids his age. And I’m pretty fit, as a result!’
‘Hmm,’ Dylan said. There was a pause. ‘And what will happen now?’
‘He’ll stay in child-care. Unless I can juggle my shifts at the hospital, which, of course, I’ll try to do.’
Which doesn’t deal with the mortgage. There must be some other areas where I can save. If I get an increase on my credit-card limit…
‘There’s no other choice? Your mother—’
‘Has emphysema, as you may have realised. She’s tired and breathless, gets asthma attacks quite often, and can’t do much for herself. She could sell her little unit and come and live here, yes, but she’s too ill to help with Duncan, other than overnight babysitting, and really too ill to live under the same roof as such an active little boy.’
‘Yes, I can understand that.’
‘She loves him, but she wouldn’t be happy here. Can you stop asking these questions, Dylan? Marrying Alex wasn’t just about solving my current family problems. There was a lot more. You mean well. I can see that. But you’re trivialising my life, and my choices. It’s not helping. Don’t try and help, please.’
She lifted her chin and met his gaze steadily, still far more conscious of their two bodies than she wanted to be. What was he thinking? She couldn’t tell. His dark eyes were clouded and thoughtful, and he was frowning.
At that moment, Duncan ran back out to the veranda, as expected, with his arms full of towels. One dangling end was dangerously close to tripping up his eager little feet. Turning away from Dylan, Annabelle took the bundle from Duncan quickly, and asked, ‘What about your cozzie? Know where that is?’
‘Onna line,’ he said confidently, and rushed off again, to the far corner of the crowded garden where the rotary clothesline stood, hung with pegged-up garments.
‘I should go,’ Dylan said, and Annabelle didn’t argue. ‘Please, think a little more about what I said.’
She laughed. ‘The marriage proposal? You didn’t mean it. I’m not going to think about it for a