Newborn Baby For Christmas. Fiona LoweЧитать онлайн книгу.
She caught her breath. ‘And you.’
He hugged her again. ‘Come in. Come in.’
He ushered her into the house, leading the way down a central corridor until they stood in the light and airy extension. He kept his gaze glued on her. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. I thought you were in Perth?’
Although they’d traded emails and texts, six months had flashed past since she’d last seen him and she found herself staring at him, not quite able to fill the well. His hair covered a little less of his forehead than it used to and a shorter style had taken out a lot of the curls. He had more laughter lines around his eyes but other than that he looked the same—tall, toned, sun kissed and radiating enthusiasm for life.
After five years in London and Africa—where she’d visited him twice—he’d returned to Australia and bought this house on a tree-lined street in Geelong. It was close to his beloved coast and only a couple of hours’ drive from his parents.
Not that he’d settled down. He spent at least three months of the year away with Giving Back, spearheading groups of doctors for the charity and working in developing countries.
He was very generous in his permanent offer for her to use the house for mini-breaks from Melbourne any time she wished. She’d envisaged using it often but at his housewarming party everything had changed when she’d met Luke. ‘Lovely Luke’, as all her friends called him, and she’d agreed, happily following him to Perth. The nickname had stuck right up until three months ago.
‘I’m back and working in Melbourne.’ She smiled at him, hoping he didn’t spot the tension that coiled through her like a preloaded spring. Her heart galloped like a racehorse and her stomach swished back and forth like a washing machine. It took everything she had to work at making herself sound normal—the absolute opposite of how she was feeling because everything hung on his answer to a question.
‘I thought you were in Peru until February. In fact, I didn’t believe Joel Goldsmith when he told me you were back.’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry, George, I know we usually let each other know when we’re in or out of the country but things have been a bit crazy. Dad had a myocardial infarction so I came home early.’
‘Oh, God.’ Georgie had only met Hamish’s parents a few times—at graduation, briefly in London and once at a charity dinner for Giving Back, but that didn’t lessen her concern. ‘Is he okay?’
Hamish nodded. ‘He was lucky. They were in town doing Christmas shopping and ordering supplies for the guesthouse when it happened, so he went straight to the hospital and they inserted a stent. He’s doing great. In fact, he’s fitter now than before it all happened.’
‘That’s good to hear.’ Georgie automatically swung round at the sound of footsteps.
A woman who looked to be in her early twenties, complete with bedroom eyes and a boyish figure which was barely covered by a skimpy bikini, appeared barefoot at the French doors. Absolutely nothing about her sagged or bulged—her youth guaranteeing everything held itself up on its own and stayed in its rightful place. She was perfect in every way and she’d probably never met a stretch mark or a full support bra, let alone sculpted underwear.
Georgie’s insides slumped and she suddenly felt all of her thirty-four years. This woman—
She’s a girl.
This girl was the ideal example of Hamish’s preferred type—everything perfectly proportioned and nothing over or undersized in any way.
Everything I’m not.
Over the years she’d got skilled at hiding the way each new girlfriend made her feel, so she tilted her head and raised her brows as if to say, Nothing’s changed, I see.
Hamish caught the look and winked. ‘Stephanie, this is my very good friend, Georgina.’
Although Hamish invariably shortened her name to Georgie or George, he always introduced her by her full name. It was at odds with his easygoing manner and she often wondered why he didn’t feel other people should treat her name with the same casual familiarity he always did.
‘Hi, Stephanie. Good to meet you.’ She gave her a friendly wave, similar to the ones she’d given to the many girlfriends of Hamish’s over the years. Girlfriends who’d once been of similar age but were now a lot younger.
Well, she was the grown-up in the room so she planned to be the one in charge. Keeping her gaze on Stephanie’s face, she said, ‘I just have some business to discuss with Hamish and then he’s all yours again. I promise I won’t keep him too long.’
Stephanie looked straight at Hamish, managing to combine equal amounts of a disappointed pout with a provocative glance that together said, I’m holding you to that. ‘I guess I’ll wait out by the pool, then.’
When Hamish didn’t disagree, Stephanie turned and disappeared from view.
‘We have business to discuss?’ Hamish’s furrowed brow matched the rest of his confused expression.
She bit her lip. This is it. This was the reason she’d come. The moment she’d been working towards for three long months. She’d expected to have more time, but everything had suddenly been brought forward by his early arrival home and her disquiet that he might disappear again just as quickly. As each year passed Hamish seemed to travel more and more with Giving Back.
I really could wait.
No, you can’t. Tick tock, tick tock. There’s no time like the present.
Gripping her bag close to her side, she heard the crackle of squished legal papers scrunching inside it. ‘Can we go into your office so we’re not interrupted?’
Hamish startled—his eyes suddenly wide and his face pinched. ‘Hell, George, what’s going on?’
Everything she wanted came down to this yet-to-be-had conversation—the one she’d practised in front of her cheval mirror so many times she could recite it in her sleep. She swallowed and hooked his gaze. ‘Do you remember just before you went to London, you said to me that that if I ever needed you, I just had to ask?’
Hamish’s blood chilled as his gut gave a sickening lurch. Georgie had never asked him for anything before and his brain shot straight to disaster. He covertly studied her, searching for the cachectic look of cancer.
Nothing.
She stood before him with her short-cropped brown hair mussed and looking as she always did—slightly dishevelled and as if she’d thrown on whatever clothes had landed at the end of her bed over the previous week.
A smooth expanse of olive skin broken only by the shimmering of a jewelled navel ring separated the top of a pair of baggy happy pants and a white embroidered blouse, which she’d tied under her breasts. Breasts he’d always admired despite the fact they were slightly too big for the rest of her body. Georgie always hated it that her body was wrongly proportioned and he knew she spent a lot of time at the gym trying to dominate it into submission, but without much success.
But all of that aside and taking into account her usual aura of general uncertainty about the world she lived in, she looked fit and healthy and not remotely sick.
The fact she wanted privacy scared him and he quickly ushered her through to the office, his mind racing, trying to preempt her question but coming up blank. ‘Of course I remember.’
‘Good.’ She chewed her thumbnail the way she always did when she was nervous.
His anxiety ratcheted up a few more notches as her eyes flickered with a myriad of emotions, but he could only recognise fear backed up by determination. Surely knowing had to be better than this agony. ‘Spit it out, George.’
Her shoulders squared and she shot him a tight smile that combined a flare of hope tied up with despair. ‘I want your sperm.’