One Perfect Night (13 page)

Cameron held his breath as he watched Peppa walking down the corridor to the elevators. Although she didn’t walk in a way that highlighted her sensational figure as many women he knew did, he couldn’t help but smile at the curve of her butt as she strode away. Couldn’t help but recall his fingers on those curves only moments ago. The way she’d giggled delightfully at his touch, the way she always laughed in his presence. The way
he
always relaxed and smiled when she was near. He almost called her back, almost asked if he could drop around after the evening meeting had finished.

Almost, but commonsense prevailed at the last minute.

He clenched into fists the fingers that itched to touch her one more time and he stilled the legs that yearned to go after her.

He was all too aware that a line was close to being crossed. His physical needs had been sated mere minutes ago, yet still he didn’t want to part ways. When it was just sex, the danger was minimal but he didn’t simply want to drop around for a late night booty-call. He wanted to spend time with her. And that went against all the safety boundaries he’d built around himself since Kristen died. That wasn’t safe.

Peppa fed Fred and poured herself a glass of ice-cold water. She took a sip and immediately retched. Steadying the glass on the bench, she held one hand over her mouth and rushed for the bathroom. Her knees dropped to the cold hard tiled floor but she ignored the pain, clutching the bowl of the toilet instead.

Perhaps it was a good idea Cameron hadn’t come around tonight—she appeared to have caught Izzy’s bug and she’d prefer to keep her dignity in front of him.

When the vomiting subsided, she forced herself up and washed her face. A shower would be the best idea but she couldn’t summon the energy involved. While they’d been making love every night she seemed to have been surviving on some kind of adrenalin but this disappointing intermission had brought home exactly how exhausted she was. So instead she took a bottle of water and a packet of crackers to bed and succumbed to an early night.

Despite the usual fantasies of Cameron and having to get up to go to the toilet once, Peppa slept well but when she woke the next morning, a wave of nausea hit her the moment she sat up. Groaning, she dashed to the bathroom but when she adopted her position at the toilet bowl, nothing came.

She heaved and although her tummy felt queasy, as if she was trapped in the bottom of a boat on a stormy sea, nothing actually happened.

Feeling as if she’d had a big night out on the town, she trundled into the kitchen to give Fred his breakfast and hunt down a fizzy pep-me-up. The kitten mewed around her legs, rubbing himself affectionately against her calves as she dished his wet food into the bowl.

“There you are, kitty,” she said, trying not to breathe for fear the fishy smell would set her stomach roiling again. She shoved his dish farther along than usual and, straightening, she came eye to eye with her wall calendar.

“No. Way!” She peered closer, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her and there wasn’t really a red circle around the number from two days ago. Her cycle was more predicable than the seasons of the year and she was well and truly late.

She slumped against the bench, her head falling into her hands as she tried to make sense of all this. When she thought about it logically, there had to be another explanation than the pregnancy one. She and Cameron had certainly indulged in a lot of sex but they’d always used protection. Falling pregnant wasn’t a simple feat in the best of conditions—Peppa had plenty of friends trying to get pregnant to no avail—so how unlikely was it that she, damaged as she was, could have hit the jackpot through condom warfare? Her mind flicked back to that first night, that first off-the-planet encounter when they’d almost made love without a condom. He’d stopped just in time…or had he?

Not that it would be a jackpot.

It would be nothing less than hazardous.

Shivers littered her skin as fear enveloped her body and shook her heart. She couldn’t risk getting pregnant the normal way. Her remaining fallopian tube was scarred and if she suffered another ectopic pregnancy, all her dreams of motherhood would be lost. Tears prickled her eyeballs at the thought.

Never mind the fact that Cameron would be less than pleased. And whenever she’d envisioned starting a family, it was in a loving relationship with a man as excited by the news as she’d be.

The gastro. She must have caught that awful thing that was doing the rounds at Lyrique and somehow it must have mucked up her body clock. There was only one thing for it—call in sick to work and find out one way or the other. After a quick phone call to Stanley’s PA explaining she’d caught the gastro and wouldn’t be in today, she showered hastily and made a beeline for the pharmacy on the corner of her building.

This time as she handed the money over for the pregnancy testing kit and later as she sat on the edge of the bath waiting for the results, her emotions were in dire opposition to the last time she’d been there.

Last time she’d been in a committed relationship and Tim had been beside her in the bathroom of his house, the house she’d just moved into, as they counted down the minutes and seconds. Last time her pulse had been racing with excitement at the thought that if there were two red lines on the little white stick their lives would be changing beyond belief. In a good way.

Last time there hadn’t been any fear hanging over her head.

She tapped her toes on the tiles, staring up at the stick next to the basin as if it were a bomb. Eventually, she found the courage to look.

Two red lines.

Pregnant.

Peppa froze. Her bones went numb. A zillion thoughts stormed her mind making her head hurt.

She was going to have a baby.

Her most desperate dream was in reach.

She and
Cameron
were going to have a baby.

But he didn’t want her long-term. He didn’t want commitment or a happy-ever-after and he’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t want children.

He’d always been honest. Right from the start, he’d said their liaison would last as long as the lust and she’d been infatuated enough to agree! Stupid enough to think she could sleep with someone as special as him and not get emotionally attached. Not fall in love.

What a fool.

Although there was no sign of his attraction to her waning and lately little things that he’d done and said had begun to give her hope that maybe, just maybe one day he’d feel the same as her, she’d be stupid to entertain the fantasy of Cameron being happy by a baby announcement. How the heck was she supposed to tell him? A basket delivered to the office filled with baby items and the positive pregnancy test?

She began to laugh hysterically at the thought but the hysterics were quickly overtaken by tears. She clutched the pregnancy test to her chest, still sobbing. Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.

For years she’d dreamed of being pregnant. The fantasies had included being in love and loved by the baby’s father. The fantasies hadn’t included medical worries hanging over her head. And they certainly hadn’t included the father of her child still being in love with his dead wife. What a mess.

Her thoughts snapped her back to reality, to the very real possibility that this pregnancy would go the devastating way of the last and then where would she be? Heartbroken, distraught and likely unable to leave the house for days.

Whether Cameron was behind her or not, she wanted this baby and the idea that it might not have a fighting chance at life squeezed at her heart.

She wouldn’t tell him. Not yet. She didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes or hear him say that he’d stand by her when she knew it was only because he was that kind of man. Honorable. Bound by duty. But more so…she didn’t want to see relief in his eyes if she did tell him and then she lost this baby as she’d lost the last.

She didn’t want his pity.

After reading an email from his PA, Cameron picked up his phone and buzzed her. “What’s this about the
Rebel Heirs
’s recording being delayed?”

“Peppa, our voice talent, called in sick this morning,” explained Molly. “She’s almost completed the book, so we can’t substitute with anybody else.”

“Sick?” How bad? Why hadn’t she called or texted him? Didn’t he have a right to know? His chest tightened at the thought that hurt much more than it should. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Tummy bug apparently. It’s struck down half the building since New Year’s. Nasty thing—knocks you for six. But the good news is it’s only a twenty-four hour thing, so she should be back tomorrow.”

Good news? Peppa was likely lying on her couch with her head in a bowl feeling like shit and there was good news?

He suddenly realized he didn’t give a damn about the delay in recording. Or the fact Peppa hadn’t called him. Knowing her kind, self-sacrificing nature, she probably didn’t want to intrude on his time.

“Molly, I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off.” He flipped his laptop shut and began to gather his things. “Please take messages and don’t call me unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

“Of course, Cameron. Enjoy your afternoon.”

And that was the merit of a good PA. No matter how curious Molly was at his uncharacteristic early departure, she’d never ask.

On his way to Penelope’s he stopped by the pharmacy and bought everything he could find that was supposed to relieve the symptoms of gastro and a bottle of ginger ale because that’s what Auntie Rose had always given him to drink when he was sick. He also bought a stash of the romantic comedy DVDs he knew she adored. Armed and desperate to see how she was, he snuck into the building with Penelope’s neighbor Mrs. Parker and, juggling the supplies in one hand, he rapped on her door with the other.

There was no reply. He knocked again.

Still nothing.

“Penelope. I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

He sighed at the lack of response. Then turned toward Mrs. Parker’s flat. A few words of sweet talk and he returned with Penelope’s spare key.

“What are you doing?” Penelope met him in the hallway with a major scowl on her face and her hands pulling tightly on the tie of her robe.

She looked washed-out, her hair hung limply about her shoulders and her eyes were bloodshot but she didn’t sound sick. She sounded pissed off. Strangely, she was still beautiful.

“I came to see how you were.” He held up the abundance of medication and the ginger ale. “I talked to a pharmacist and he said, depending on your symptoms, there should be something here that can offer relief.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, since you’re here, I suppose you’d better come in.”

As she was sick, and adorable, he ignored her insolent tone and followed her into the living room. She gestured at the couch. “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

He sat in a spot still warm from her body and while she went off to do whatever it was she had to do, he unloaded his quick fixes onto the coffee table and spread out the DVDs.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
In the bathroom Peppa forced herself to breathe. Before her the positive pregnancy test still languished on the vanity. She scooped it up, spun half a roll of toilet paper around it and then shoved it to the bottom of her bin. She placed a hand against her chest, hoping to regulate her hyperactive heart.

What was he doing here? More to the point how was she supposed to sit alongside him and make small talk knowing what she did? That his baby was—hopefully—blossoming inside her. Deciding to simply take it one minute at a time, she changed into her velour tracksuit pants and a baggy T-shirt. She glanced in the mirror, noting that her dire outfit had nothing on the state of her face and hair. Perhaps he’d be scared away by her ghastly appearance.

Yet, when she walked back into the living room the sight of Cameron leaning back against the couch, his shoes discarded on the floor and what looked to be a chemist shop laid out on her coffee table, suggested he was here to stay.

Deep, deep down she couldn’t be disappointed.

“Sorry about my welcome,” she said, taking tentative steps toward him. “I was surprised to see you.”

He waved a hand in front of his face then patted the space beside him. “You’re sick. Auntie Rose taught me always to make exceptions for sick people.”

“Your auntie is one special lady.”

“That she is,” he replied, but she noticed, as always, he changed the subject quickly to avoid any further discussion of his family. “Now, are you going to spend all day standing up or are you going to join me and choose a movie?”

She glanced down at his offering. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe you want to watch any of these?”

“I promise that if you tell a soul, I’ll adamantly deny it, but you may have unleashed a new favorite genre for me. That
How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days
was seriously funny.”

After a brief discussion, they decided to start with
About a Boy.
Initially Peppa felt acute discomfort when Cameron drew her into his side and they snuggled up on the couch together. He still viewed their
liaison
—which now felt like a dirty word—as a casual, take-one-day-at-a-time bit of fun, whereas her life had changed dramatically in the last few hours and whether he liked it or not, they’d always be inextricably linked. But after a couple of hours, a pit stop for dinner for Cameron and another movie, she forgot about the agony of loving someone who didn’t want to love you back and relaxed.

As the credits flashed across the screen on
Love Actually,
Cameron stroked back her hair with one hand and, using the remote, flicked the TV off with the other. “I think it’s time we got you to bed.”

“But…” Peppa’s stomach still wobbled and her bones were so exhausted she thought he might have to carry her, yet she didn’t want to go to bed. She knew she wasn’t up to making out, knew he wouldn’t expect her to, but that meant he’d leave and she didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. Not ever.

Placing a hand against her tummy under the quilt he’d pulled over her earlier, she dared to ask, “Can you stay while I go to sleep?”

She felt his chest muscles flex beneath her head and she held her breath for the answer. The pause between her question and his reply was enough to read into his discomfort, yet he agreed. “Okay.”

And then, in a maneuver she’d only ever seen on television fairytales, he sat back slightly before sweeping his delectably muscled arms beneath her and lifting her as if she were a baby. Only he didn’t make her feel like a baby. He made her feel like a woman. A whole fabulous woman.

He sat her on the bottom of the bed, while he peeled back the duvet, then he turned and surveyed her mess of a room. “Where do you keep your PJs?”

At the confusion that must have shown in her eyes, he clarified, “If I’m to share a bed with you and keep my wandering hands under control, you’ll need to be fully clothed.”

Unable to withhold a smile, she pointed to the right chest of drawers.

“Thanks.” Two strides and he opened the top drawer.

First he held up a silky negligee she’d forgotten she even owned—a present from Izzy when she’d been with Tim two years. The next nightie was less risqué but Cameron wrote it off as “too damn short.” A few more seconds rummaging, and then, “Bingo.” He held up her most favorite, comfortable pajamas in the world. A pair of Garfield-covered flannel ones that she’d never in a million years have chosen to wear during a sleepover with Cameron.

“Relax,” he said with a churlish grin. “I told you I like cats. And these are perfect for the task at hand—they’re like something my auntie Rose would wear.”

“You seem to have forgotten how good I am at throwing pillows.”

“Not forgotten.” He chuckled. “Just hoping you’re too ill to have the strength to lift any.”

“Don’t bet on it.”

In reply, he stepped forward and slipped her T-shirt off her head. Next came the bra. And she felt like an idiot as he proceeded to pull the Garfield shirt around her body and do up the buttons, seemingly making every effort not to brush his fingers against her bare skin. Despite his pains, despite her foggy head and less-than-functional belly, her body reacted with shooting sensations of bliss deep inside and on every available inch of skin. She held her breath, while he finished the task and then said, “You’re not coming to bed fully clothed, are you?”

“I’m not staying, Penelope.” His voice was warning, like a headmaster’s.

“I know. It’s just…” How could she tell him she wanted to pretend? To imagine for just one night what life could be, if only. “Oh never mind, jump in and wrap your arms around me, will you? And turn off the light on your way.”

“Bossy when you’re sick, aren’t you?” But he acquiesced nonetheless.

After planting a brief kiss on her forehead, he tugged her close. Peppa didn’t know if she’d actually be able to sleep—so wonderful was the feeling of being spooned against the man she loved—and she figured if she stayed awake, he’d have to stay as promised, but her exhausted body relented.

Cameron opened one eye to see light stealing in through the gap in the curtains and wondered why his alarm clock had failed him. It had been a long while since the sun had beaten him to the beach for his morning run.

When he opened the other eye, instant sweat swept over his skin.

He leaped from the bed—not his—quicker than a mouse sprung by a cat. So quick an actual cat—Penelope’s kitten Fred whom he’d obviously disrupted in slumber—hissed and bared his teeth.

At that precise moment, Penelope appeared in the
ensuite
doorway, hair wet and nothing but that illegally small towel wrapped around her again. He ripped open the top few buttons of his shirt. How the hell had he slept with them done up? How the hell had he slept at all?

He needed fresh air. He needed a drink. Was it too damn early to start on the whiskey?

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” she said, coming toward him. “Didn’t sleep well?”

Her lips were curled upward, satisfied, happy. In contrast, he had a lump in his throat the size of a large meatball.

“It appears I slept damn fine.” He rubbed his neck muscles which felt abnormally relaxed.

She frowned and sat on the bed, glancing up at him. “And that’s a problem?”

His fists clenched. He stepped backward. Letting out a raw scream was a very real option. “No.” He huffed. “Yes.” He ran a hand through his bed hair and cursed, unable to do this with her sitting there practically naked.

How would Kristen feel knowing he’d slept so soundly with another woman that the demons of her death hadn’t haunted him? More to the point, how had he let it happen?

“Look, go out and make yourself a coffee,” said Penelope. “Please don’t disappear. I’ll get dressed and then you can tell me why you’re so freaked about a good night’s sleep.”

Not planning on chatting at all, but glad of the chance to escape, he all but fled from the bedroom. Disappearance sounded like a good idea but he wasn’t a coward. So instead, he paced the kitchen floor, angry at the kettle for taking so long to boil. Banging a cupboard shut when he didn’t find the mugs straightaway. Putting too much coffee in their cups and then spilling the milk right across the counter.

Strangely, the act of cleaning up the mess, of wiping circles with a wet cloth across the surface, did something to ease his rage and he realized, even though they didn’t have a future, he owed Penelope some kind of explanation for his crazy behavior this morning.

He finished making the coffee, but stopped short when he went to pop some bread in the toaster. This domestic delusion had already gone way too far.

“So are you going to tell me what all that was about?”