Never Kiss a Man in a Christmas Sweater. Debbie JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
daylights out of the staff’, as Leah put it.
Since then, the two women had been sitting together, sipping hot beverages, and making small talk as Maggie wriggled around on her inflatable cushion. There was a small fake Christmas tree on one table, and a few dusty drapes of tinsel over the doorframe. It was one of the least festive places she’d ever been, and she was desperate to just get home, take more pain killers, and soak her nether regions in hot water and Radox. Hopefully Ellen would be in later, and they’d have a fun old night applying ibuprofen gel, eating Chinese takeaway, and swapping war stories.
Luca, it turned out, wasn’t Marco’s son at all. He was super uncle, not super dad. He’d been staying here with Marco – who was delivering a guest lecture at the Law Institute – while Leah and Rob had a few days together in their cottage in Scotland.
“Though technically it’s not ours,” said Leah. “It belongs to a midget called Morag. Which I know sounds ridiculous because I look like I still need one of those plastic steps toddlers use to reach the bathroom sink, but Morag is both a midget and a thin girl. I’ve never forgiven her for making me feel fat the first time I stayed there, and tried to squeeze into her clothes. I only had a wedding dress with me at the time…”
Maggie raised her eyebrows, about to ask the obvious question. And also to ask what kind of wedding dress, purely out of professional curiosity.
“Long story,” said Leah, grinning. “Let’s just say it ended with loads of fabulous sex, me moving to Chicago with Rob, and eventually with Luca arriving on the scene to turn all our lives upside down. And now, with little Bella here,” she finished, rubbing her vast tummy.
“It’s a girl?” Maggie asked, feeling the familiar combination of broodiness, regret and several shades of envy flood over her. She recognised its arrival, and tried to mentally scoop it back into the bitter little box where it belonged.
“We don’t know for sure,” replied Leah, “but I’m insisting that the universe provides me with at least one other person who doesn’t pee on the toilet seat.”
“Just wait until she’s a teenager and you’re sharing a bathroom cabinet with her,” said Maggie, recalling the disaster zone that was Ellen’s shelf back at home. “You might yearn for a bit of pee on the toilet seat.”
“Ha! That may be very true…oh, look, here’s my lord and master – he’ll have news for us…”
Leah dumped her hot chocolate cup on the table, and dragged herself to her feet as quickly and gracefully as it was possible for one human being containing another human being to do.
The man who had entered the room walked towards her, scooping his vertically challenged wife into his arms and squeezing her tight enough to produce a little ‘eek!’. Leah rested her head against his chest for a moment, and Maggie could almost feel the relief flowing from her.
She’d been so chatty, appeared so relaxed, that Maggie had been starting to wonder if she was worried about Marco at all. Now, she realised, she had been. With this man to lean on, she suddenly looked small and scared and less larger-than-life. Like she was finally able to relax.
Leah reached up and placed her hands on either side of Rob’s face, planting a big wet kiss on his lips, before disentangling herself and leading him over to Maggie.
“Maggie, meet Rob,” she said. “Rob, meet Maggie. No, don’t try and get up – think of your poor bottom!”
Maggie did as she was told and stayed seated. Her poor bottom was indeed protesting. Instead, she looked up at Marco’s brother, and despite the unpleasant circumstances, couldn’t help but like what she saw. He was just as tall – maybe less brawny – and had the same dark, wavy hair. His eyes were brown, not hazel, but the resemblance was strong. Strong enough to make her blush as she recalled some of the less than chaste thoughts she’d had about his twin over the last few days.
“Hi Maggie,” he said, squatting down in front of her so he was on eye level. “Thanks so much for everything you’ve done. He’s back in recovery – they were able to reset the bone without surgery, and the docs say he’ll be fine; it wasn’t anything too complicated. I just spoke to him for a couple of minutes. He’s pretty high, so I’m not sure what this means, but he said to tell you he surrenders – don’t shoot him, don’t shake him, and don’t scream at him.”
“Oooh,” said Leah with a giggle, “that all sounds very interesting! I thought you two didn’t know each other? How’ve you managed to fit all that in?”
“We don’t know each other,” replied Maggie, finishing off the coffee and urging her red cheeks to fade back down to acceptable levels. Having Rob so up close and personal wasn’t really helping on that point – he had that same tanned, fit, healthy glow that she’d noticed in his brother. It wasn’t really fair to womankind.
“But…well, we’ve crossed paths. Until we were on the same path, that is. Then it all got a bit nasty. Is he all right?”
“Yes, Rob,” added Leah, “will he ever play the violin again?”
“Probably not with his left leg,” he answered, dashing his wife a white-toothed grin. “But he’ll be okay. You want to go see him? Both of you?”
Maggie started to protest – it was, in all honesty, the last thing she wanted to do. She was throbbing in unmentionable places – and not in a good way. Her clothes were still damp. Her hair was so big she might not even make it through the door frame. She needed to get home, back to comfort and calm and safety – and away from dangerously sexy American men and their heart-wrenchingly pregnant wives.
Leah listened to her spluttering, and fixed her with a no-nonsense amber stare.
“Of course you want to see him, Maggie,” she said firmly. “Why ever else have you been hanging round here for the last three hours? It certainly wasn’t for the coffee.”
“I could hire a nurse,” said Rob, frowning at his still doped brother.
“Well, make it a hot one…” Marco mumbled in reply, his eyes slowly focusing on Maggie, who was lurking in the doorway, leaning on the frame and looking decidedly uncomfortable being there at all. His eyes were still a little fuzzy, and she looked like a giant blob of red hair stuck on top of a body.
“No – we’re going to find the nastiest, meanest, ugliest nurse in Britain,” added Leah, who was sitting at the end of the bed looking at his medical chart. “It says right here that you need someone over 70 with facial warts.”
“Hey – I have a generous spirit when it comes to women,” answered Marco, struggling with the remote control to his bed until he was semi-upright. “I could find that hot. I could find anything hot right now, I’m on so many drugs. Maggie – that’s your name right? Come on in. How’s your ass?”
She walked slowly into the room, trying to ignore Leah’s little snigger at the question, and sat carefully down on the spare chair next to him. He was wearing a puke-green hospital gown that was way too small for him, and he certainly wasn’t glowing any more. He was hooked up to various beepy machines, and had a drip attached to his arm by one of those horrible spiky things that always made her cringe. She could see the outline of his plaster-cast leg beneath the sheet, which was equally cringey. The crash hadn’t been her fault – but she still felt guilty.
“My ‘ass’ is wonderful, thank you,” she replied, placing one hand on the edge of the bed. He quickly covered it with one of his own, luckily not the one with the spiky thing in it. “How’s yours?”
“It’s hanging out of this gown, for one thing…hey, Maggie? Thanks for sticking around. Thanks for calling these guys. And I’m so sorry about the accident. I’m glad it’s me who ended up here, not you.”