Single Dads Collection. Lynne MarshallЧитать онлайн книгу.
she escaped without intervention, and half an hour later she was on her way back, the bottles full and the washing on—just to make it less of a lie, because she hated that. She ought to just tell Georgie and have done with it, but she was afraid her friend would find it somehow repellent.
Still, she’d done her bit for the subterfuge now, and she arrived back armed with the milk and more nappies and clothes for Freddie and Kizzy, to find them all in the swimming pool, with much shrieking and giggling going on, and Nick and Harry with Dickon and Harry junior on their shoulders, battering each other with brightly coloured foam poles.
Dickon fell off with a great shriek, and the two Harrys punched the air and whooped.
‘We-e wo-on,’ Harry junior chanted, brandishing his hideous green pole overhead and grinning for England.
‘Me, me!’ Freddie yelled, reaching out to Harry, his little fists opening and closing in appeal, and so Harry took him on his shoulders, Nick took Beth and, as she’d known she would, Beth let her little brother win, falling into the water with a mock cry. Nick scooped her up instantly, hugging her and whispering something to her that made her giggle deliciously, and then she caught sight of Emily and waved.
‘Hello, Mummy! Come in the water, it’s lovely!’
Why was it, she thought, that the sea was somehow so much less personal, so much easier to be almost naked in? Because here, in the close confines of the Barrons’ pool, she felt suddenly hideously conscious of the scantiness of the perfectly normal one-piece swimsuit that only an hour ago had seemed quite adequate.
Not now, though. Now, it could have been made of gauze, and she could feel Harry’s eyes burning holes in it
She slid under the water, mmmed appreciatively and swam away from him to Freddie, bobbing happily in his waterwings and splashing Georgie with his pudgy baby hands. He snuggled up to her, giving her a wet, slightly chlorinated kiss, and she was glad to focus her attention on him. It gave her a chance to ignore Harry, although she could hear another loud and boisterous game behind her with him evidently in the thick of it.
‘Get the washing sorted?’ Georgie asked, and Emily was so, so glad she’d made the effort.
‘Yes, thanks. Baby clothes,’ she flannelled. ‘Kizzy and Freddie. They get through them so fast.’
‘So can’t Harry use the washing machine?’ she murmured, and Emily felt the colour creeping into her cheeks.
‘Of course he can—but he didn’t know where Freddie’s stuff was. I just popped a few of the baby’s things in to make up the load.’
Oh, she was going to be struck by lightning in a minute, and Georgie, who’d known her for years, was giving her a very odd look. She didn’t say anything, though, and Nick was getting out of the water and attending to the barbeque, the children were heading for the shower—one mess she was glad she wouldn’t have to clear up!—and Freddie was pulling the sort of face that meant she had just a few seconds to get him to a potty.
‘Oops. Got to fly,’ she said, and hoisted Freddie out of the pool, hauled herself up onto the side, grabbed him and ran.
‘That was a great evening.’
She smiled warily. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘They’re lovely people.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re lucky to have such good friends close by. Mine are scattered all over the world.’
And whose choice was that? she could have said, but she didn’t, she bit her tongue and headed for the kitchen. ‘Tea or wine?’ she asked, and he shrugged.
‘Whatever. I’ve had wine and beer already today. If you’re drinking I’ll join you, but I’m quite happy with tea.’
‘Tea it is, then,’ she said, glad she’d had the excuse of driving to refuse the wine, because while she was still expressing milk for Kizzy she didn’t want to drink.
And it would be lovely to reach a point where she didn’t have to take that into account at every moment of her life!
With a little sigh she put the kettle on, reached for the mugs and bumped into Harry.
‘Sorry,’ he said, throwing her an apologetic smile. ‘I was getting the mugs for you.’
But the damage was done. After a day of watching him running around on the beach and at the Barrons’ three parts naked, water sluicing off his powerful body and beading like tiny gems in the dark hair that covered his legs and arrowed down his abdomen, just the brush of his body against her was enough to start a wildfire that no amount of common sense was going to be able to put out. She’d nearly blown a fuse when his leg had brushed against hers in the hot tub, but she’d been safe there, with Georgie and Nick to chaperone and keep order. Here, there was no one to hold them back, nothing to stop them. Except her fleeting common sense.
Emily turned back to the tea, her fingers trembling, and dropped a teaspoon on the floor.
They bent together, bumped again and he laughed and apologised and moved away, giving her room to breathe at last and her heart time to slow.
‘So—fancy having a look at the garden tomorrow?’ he said after a long moment that sizzled with tension.
‘Sure. If you have the kids.’
‘I thought we could do it together—talk it through. It’s not as if it’s far away. The kids can come, too. After all, it’s the weekend. The painters won’t be there.’
‘No. OK. What did they say about the kitchen, by the way?’ she asked, desperately trying not to think about that arrowing hair on his washboard abdomen.
‘Oh, he’d been going to suggest it,’ he said, taking his mug from her. ‘Thought it was a good idea for a short-term fix. He’s going to do it.’
‘Colour?’
Harry shrugged and grinned. ‘I have no idea. Maybe sort of duck-egg, I think he was suggesting, but I can’t say I’ve taken an interest in kitchens, really. My flat’s got a stainless-steel and lacquer-red high-gloss laminate kitchen that’s a mass of fingermarks and a living nightmare to work in—not my choice, I have to add. It was the developer who put it in. The only bit of it I like is the walnut worktop, because it goes with the floor. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. This kitchen can’t look worse than it does at the moment, so duck-egg or cream or whatever, it has to be an improvement.’
They went through to the sitting room and she picked up the TV remote. ‘Want to watch something, or shall I put music on?’
‘Music would be nice,’ he said, and she went into her study and came back with a couple of CDs that she used for background while she was working—compilation albums of soft, easy-listening tracks, female singers mostly, but she’d never noticed just how intrinsically romantic all the songs were until that moment.
Damn. She should have chosen something different—something classical. She buried her nose in her mug and tried not to look at him. For a few minutes they sat in silence, then the third track came on, less romantic, and with an inward sigh of relief she shifted slightly so she could see him better and said, ‘Tell me about yourself. What have you been doing since I last saw you? Apart from the obvious, of course.’
He gave a quiet huff of laughter. ‘Nothing much. Flying about all over the world. It doesn’t leave time for much, really.’
‘You’d just left uni when your grandmother died, hadn’t you? You must have been twenty-one, I suppose.’
He nodded. ‘Nearly twenty-two. And you were nineteen, and home from uni for the summer.’
And they’d watched the sun rise, and then that night…
The memory was written on his face, and she looked away. ‘So what did you do then? After you left?’
He