The Billionaire’s Baby (6 page)

She swallowed, trapped between the espresso machine and a cake display, unable to stop thinking about those hands reaching out to her, resting gently on her waist, pulling her closer and…

‘Would you like me to get started?’

Her gaze flew to his as her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, her body in total meltdown.

He was talking about the fridge hinge.

Of course he was, but it didn’t stop her imagination taking flight in all sorts of wicked ways as to how he could get started—with her.

‘It’s down here,’ she managed to say, thankful her voice wasn’t half as shaky as her resolve to hold him at arm’s-length.

‘Okay, let’s take a look.’

He squatted down, dispelling the intimate fog that had surrounded them a second earlier. However, Blaine focusing his concentration on the hinge didn’t help cool her down, not one bit, considering his crouching down on his haunches only served to pull the work-worn denim taut across his butt, and she stifled a groan.

Had he grown oblivious to the attraction zinging between them? Had her disinterest in returning his call served its purpose? If so, she should be springing over the bar and adding a high side-kick for good measure. Instead, she squatted down next to him, disgruntled and confused and totally out of sorts.

It had been so long since she’d felt this way, preferring to play it safe where guys were concerned and not date, knowing she could rely on her business—the male of the species another matter.

Right now, staring at Blane’s butt with heat licking along her veins and sending her intentions to hold him at bay up in smoke, safe was the furthest thing from her mind.

‘I assumed you have tools when you said you’d given it a go yourself at trying to fix this?’

‘Uh-huh.’

Reaching under the nearby bench, she pulled out her tool kit and slid it over to him.

‘It’s pink.’

‘Your powers of observation are truly amazing,’ she said, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from joining in his laughter.

‘I’ve never seen a pink toolbox before.’

She rolled her eyes and flipped it open, handing him the screwdriver he’d need.

‘That’s because you work with boys. I’m sure if you had the foresight to hire a woman to be on your work crew, you’d see pink tool kits every day of the week.’

‘Maybe.’

He grinned as he took the proffered screwdriver, his fingers brushing hers, sending shards of electricity shooting up her arm as she struggled not to yank her hand back. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘With the pink tool kit?’

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching. ‘With the fact you knew which screwdriver to use.’

Puffing up like a true feminist, she said, ‘I’m not a helpless female. I know a Phillips head from a flathead.’

‘Obviously.’

She knew he was baiting her, teasing her as he had too many times to recall when they’d first met, and it felt good. It felt downright fantastic to be firing right back at him, to be swapping banter without guarding her words for fear of saying the wrong thing.

‘Think you can extend those tool-discriminating skills to hand me a wrench?’

‘Here you go, wise guy.’

She handed him the wrench, being careful to keep her fingers out of contact this time, and releasing a tiny sigh of disappointment when it worked.

For someone who knew her mind, went out and grabbed life with both hands, giving it a good shake-up along the way, she couldn’t believe how contrary he made her feel. She was wavering and vacillating all over the place, wishing for one thing, hoping for another.

If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself agreeing to spend a little time with him…and they both knew exactly where that would lead.

Directly to matrimonial trouble.

With a soft grunt, he muttered, ‘Almost there,’ and she rued the fact considering she’d been enjoying the display of bulging biceps as he held the wrench steady, his back muscles shifting under his T-shirt as he turned the screwdriver with his other hand.

‘Got it.’

With a final twist of the screwdriver, he straightened, and she dragged her eyes upward with regret.

She’d got it all right—got it bad for her husband, who’d breezed into her life when she’d least expected or wanted it.

‘Thanks. I wouldn’t have had a hope of fixing it myself, would I?’

He smiled and handed her back the tools. ‘You did great—it had bent out of shape a tad and needed a bit of muscle power to get it back into alignment.’ He winked as he flexed his arm to display the said muscle. ‘Glad I could oblige.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she mumbled, unable to drag her gaze away from the muscle play in his upper arm, the yearning she’d managed to dampen flaring in a second.

‘Want a coffee?’ she blurted, springing up from her haunches like a jack-in-the-box, needing the safety of doing a routine, everyday activity to steady her shredded resolve.

She’d made a decision not to contact him, closely followed by a need to search out those old divorce papers and put an end to this once and for all. But now she’d seen him again in the flesh—so to speak—her intentions were shot.

The sparks resurrected between them the other night were still there, had intensified if anything, and with a little fanning could burst into a raging inferno of mutual passion, the type of passion she’d only ever had with this one special guy.

‘I’d love one, thanks.’

Grateful she had her back turned so he couldn’t see her scorching cheeks, she tried to concentrate on operating the
machine, letting out an almighty yell when he sneaked up behind her and placed his hands on her waist.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Apart from the fact you just scared me half to death?’

She whirled to face him, her unjustified indignation melting away as she looked into his eyes, the desire she glimpsed taking her breath away.

‘You seem jumpy.’

With his hands burning a hole through her flimsy silk top, the smell of cedar enveloping her in a heady cloud and making her wish she could work outdoors right alongside him, she tilted her chin up, willing her arms to stay by her sides and not reach up and slide around his waist.

‘Just tired.’

It sounded like the pathetic excuse it was.

‘You sure that’s all it is?’

What could she say? That he had her so physically aware of him she was tied up in knots?

That she’d barely slept all week for dreaming of him? Remembering how good it had been between them? Wishing it could be again? Yet knowing it could never be, not with her infertility an ever-present shadow looming over her, no matter how much she’d come to terms with it herself.

‘Uh-huh.’

She took a step back, leaving him no option but to drop his hands.

‘Espresso? Or would you like me to whip you up one of our signature coffees? I make a mean café latte fredo.’

Thankfully, he bought her distraction. ‘What’s in it?’

‘One part espresso, five parts cold milk, shaken with ice.’

‘Done.’

He stepped back, giving her room to move, and she grabbed the cocktail shaker, scooped in the ice, and set about
making the coffee in record time so she could re-establish some kind of equilibrium.

‘What’s that you’re having?’

‘A doppio. Double shot of espresso.’ As if she needed to stay awake all night again. ‘So what do I owe you?’

‘Nothing.’

Her hand stilled on the espresso machine, and she sent him her best ‘don’t mess with me’ glare.

‘I have to pay you. It’s only fair.’

‘Payment, huh?’

She didn’t like the gleam in his eyes or the cunning smile spreading across his face. Both could give a girl ideas—very naughty ideas.

‘Fine. My payment is dinner.’

Oh, no. No, no, no.

Dinner would involve sitting across from him, staring into those intriguing grey eyes, seeing them crinkle every time he smiled—which was way too often—and trying not to fall under his spell.

Blane was charm personified, and if seeing him for barely thirty minutes had her in this much of a dither, what hope would she have of spending an entire evening with him and coming out unscathed, resolve intact, at the end of it?

‘I’d rather just pay you.’

She busied herself with making the coffee, injecting the right amount of nonchalance into her voice, hoping he’d accept her subtle brush-off.

‘It’s dinner or I take you to the consumer affairs board for non-payment.’

‘You’re kidding?’

Of course he was, those adorable crinkles on full display as she sent him a look of disbelief.

He shrugged, his smile not waning. ‘Maybe. Though it is
a non-negotiable deal. Dinner. You and me. You choose the place, seeing as you’re insisting on paying, though I have to tell you, having you shout me a meal doesn’t sit well with me.’

‘Why? Used to being the macho male, huh?’

‘Used to being the polite male who likes to treat his wife right.’

His low, husky tone left her in little doubt as to how well he would treat her, and in that instant she made one of those split-second decisions she’d probably regret later but couldn’t resist now.

‘Okay, dinner it is.’

‘Great. Tomorrow night suit?’

She opened her mouth to fob him off with some lame excuse about checking her diary, before snapping it shut.

He’d been nothing but helpful, courteous and lovely to her, and if all he expected in return was dinner, she’d be churlish not to oblige.

Who was she kidding? Dinner wasn’t all he was expecting—far from it. He wanted her, as his
wife
, a concept fast losing its initial lack of appeal.

‘Sounds good.’

She picked up the cocktail shaker and shook it as if her life depended on it, the jumbled contents whirling around in similar fashion to her chaotic emotions.

Accepting his offer had her torn between dancing through the café while singing out loud and running to the storeroom out back to hide for the next month.

‘Are you going to pick me up?’

His teasing smile warmed her heart as she poured his coffee into a tall glass and handed it to him.

‘Thought we’d already got past that point the other night?’

He laughed and raised his glass to her. ‘I didn’t pick you up. I asked my wife out.’

There he went again with the wife thing.

Okay, so he was right; technically she was still his wife, but that was all it was, a technicality. A fact that could be easily remedied, would be easily remedied if he’d stop smiling at her for two seconds so she could muster her resolve to not let him back in her life again.

Feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she shrugged. ‘Same diff.’

Taking a sip, he sighed his appreciation. ‘You’re splitting hairs. Or should that be coffee beans?’

Laughing, she sipped her doppio, savouring the strong, hot rush of caffeine. ‘Fine. I’ll swing by your place. Make this a real equal-opportunity dinner date.’

‘Nothing sexier than a chivalrous woman.’

He winked and her heart turned over, beating a hundred miles a minute as she sent him a tremulous smile which hopefully covered the fact she was a quivering mess of nerves inside.

He thought she was sexy.

He was flirting with her in a light, non-pressured, appealing kind of way.

He was throwing everything at her defences, weakening her determination to hold him at bay with every seductive smile, with every twinkle in his gorgeous grey eyes.

It would be so easy to give in, so tempting to see how good they could be together now they were older, wiser, more mature.

But was she willing to take the risk? For there was nothing surer than the more time she spent with Blane the more likely it was that she would fall for him all over again, every charming inch.

Surely she couldn’t tread down the marriage road again? Not when it would involve baring her soul about the one thing she’d buried deep inside, her gut-wrenching sorrow at not being able to have children buried with the yearning for a baby
she never knew she’d had until the option had been ripped away from her.

‘So now we’ve got that worked out, is it safe to bring up the topic of your project manager?’

‘All sorted.’

She dropped her gaze to her doppio before he could read her desperation. Yet another builder had walked this week, leaving her with a half-finished apartment and a permit that ran out shortly.

But she couldn’t hire him, not when she wanted him out of her life, and once she’d paid her dues with this dinner that was it.

No more meeting up, no more pseudo-dates, no more sharing coffees and chocolate.

The thought saddened her more than she could have dreamed possible.

‘Really?’

‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded vigorously, hoping the builder she’d lined up to meet in the morning would be exactly what she needed, for she couldn’t afford any more delays on the renovations, and having Blane so ready, willing and able to help wasn’t conducive to her getting him out of her life for good.

‘Fair enough, but remember the offer still stands. If you need some help, I’m your man.’

I’m your man.

He’d certainly been that at one time, for those all-too-short glorious three months when they’d laughed and teased and played as if they were the only romantic couple on the planet, a time when he’d been her fabled knight in shining armour and she would have happily followed him to the ends of the earth, secure in their love.

A time for long leisurely strolls on sultry summer evenings, hand in hand, idly exchanging hopes and dreams. A time for
sharing hot fudge sundaes, play-fighting over who got the cherry on top and kissing the drips of chocolate from each other’s lips.

A time for newly awakened passion under starry nights, for eager caresses and soft sighs as they explored each other in intimate detail while snuggled under a picnic blanket down by the river.

But that time had long gone, faded into oblivion along with her dreams for a family, and he wasn’t her man any longer, despite every cell in her body screaming to get reacquainted with her husband.

Needing to get rid of him before she did something even more stupid than agree to have dinner with him as some silly payback for services rendered, she cast a pointed glance at her watch.