Everything You Are (17 page)

Ian went to the kitchen where he used his new grind and brew espresso maker to make the beverages for his guests and a tea for himself, all the while observing Jane, who sat on the couch. She had her brown hair tied into a ponytail and he admired the line of her neck and her profile. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“No, I'm okay.” She glanced at him for a second before her focus returned to the screen.

He grabbed the cups and carried them to his office. “Here you go.” He set the cups down on the desk facing the window then lowered onto the chair. He faced Mr. Southern who stood by the window. “I have made a list --”

“This tea looks quite delicious,” his father interrupted him. “What brand is it?”

“I don't know. Something Jane bought.” Ian scowled. Why was his father bringing up a tea he hadn't even tasted?

Mr. Southern pushed a piece of paper across the desk and tapped on it.

Frowning, Ian took it and read it. 'Bugs!'

The detective pointed at the shelves, at the small grey statue of Three Wise Monkeys.

Bugs?
In his apartment? Impossible. Ian stood and went to the statue, he turned it around, and then when there was nothing there, he looked at its base. There was a small thin electric device there. His jaw locked and his eyebrows pinched. He returned to the desk and on the piece of paper scribbled, ‘There's only one person who has access to the main house and this apartment.’

With a scowl on her face, Jane stared at the apartment's heavy entrance door. Ian had just walked out through it, with his father and an older man. She turned her focus forward, toward the screen on which Elizabeth was just telling Mr. Darcy that she would never accept his marriage proposal. At breakfast, Ian had told her that he had a meeting -- nothing important, he had said, which, since the meeting was taking place in his home and with his father present, must have been a lie. Or maybe it wasn't a lie, since ten minutes after they closed themselves into the office, Ian gave the older man, who he introduced as Mr. Southern, a tour around the apartment, even asking her if he could show the man her room, which she had reluctantly allowed, and after that they left. Weird.

Her gaze fell on the phone on the coffee table before her. Yesterday evening, she had given Mark a detailed account of the day; about how Ian’s family had welcomed her, about her fall, about her visit to the doctor and how Ian's family had crowded around her when she had an ultrasound. She hadn't told him about the kiss she had shared with Ian, though, which wasn't exactly a kiss, but a very heated make-out session. If not for Chris's interruption, she would probably have ended up having sex with Ian again. It was a good thing that he had shown up, even though...

She bit her lower lip and held it between her teeth. To have sex with Ian again. Heat knotted her insides. She turned her body sideways, pulled her legs up on the couch and leaned her cheek against the back of the couch while she wrapped her arms around her middle. She loved him, the magnificent looking blond who could be so childish and so messy, but who could at the same time be so gentle and caring. And she lusted for him; oh, how she lusted for him, for the taste of his mouth, for the caress of his fingers and for the feel of his hard body. He only had to touch her, a simple brush of his hand, and her body was on fire, burning from inside out, ready to welcome him into her arms. Was he aware of that? Of what kind of impact his touch had on her?

She glanced at the phone again, grabbed it and dialled Mark's number. They had made plans for him to drop by in the afternoon, so they could all three have lunch together. But now that she was alone, she wanted to get together earlier.

Mark answered and she suggested they meet in the park nearby.

He agreed.

Half an hour later she was sitting on a bench in the small park, a cup of coffee in one hand, a half-eaten whole-wheat croissant in the other, and Mark sitting beside her. “It’s a lovely day, isn't it?”

“Very lovely,” Mark agreed.

Her eyes slid over the strollers then went to a group of young people that had tied a rope between two trees and were now one by one practising walking on it. She started to nibble on the croissant.

“What's bothering you?”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“Oh, come on, Jane. You're only this quiet when you're mulling over something.”

She pulled her eyebrows together and took a sip of coffee. Beside her steamy session with Ian, there was something else that she hadn't told Mark, something that she tried not to think about. “I'm not mulling anything over.”

Mark looked at her, his eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

She sighed and her gaze got lost in the distance. She took the last bite of the croissant and stuffed the used napkin into the pocket of her jeans, which were getting tight. She would have to buy some new clothes, something looser, or use the clothes Ian had bought her.

“Fine, don't tell me.” Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulder and drew her against his side. “But know, you can use my shoulder any time.”

She smiled, then drew her eyebrows together. “Well, if you really must know... “

“Yes?”

“Just before I fell, when I was at the top of the stairs, I swear, it felt like somebody put a hand on my back and pushed.”

Mark turned sideways. “Somebody pushed you?”

“Yes. No. Um.. I'm... I'm not sure.” She had thought that at the time. When she tumbled down the stairs, her head bent, one arm over the top of her head, the other wound around her waist, the thought that Ian had pushed her crossed her mind and chilled her to the bone. He had seemed so annoyed and childish a minute earlier. Don’t let it be Ian, she had prayed, when she looked up the stairs. “It felt so real, the push, but... Could I have imagined it? Because when I looked up the stairs, there was nobody there. It must have been just a figment of my imagination.” Her forehead wrinkled. “But somebody could have been hiding there, in the shadows by the wall.”

“Have you told Ian?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I...”

“You don't think he was the one who pushed you? Right? There's no way... I mean, I don't know him well, but he would never --”

“I know,” she interrupted him. Yes, for a short terrifying moment she had believed that Ian could be the one, but then she had seen him, thundering down the stairs, with worry imprinted on his white face, and she felt the love for their child in the embrace of his arms and in the brush of his mouth. He wanted that child as much as she. “He was so worried and he looked so frightened.”

“You should tell him.”

“I can't prove anything. He'll think that I'm hormonal or even worse, that I'm crazy.”

“He won't think that.”

“You don't know that.”

“So what if he does?” Mark set the paper cup on the bench beside him. “You're just two people living together, it shouldn't matter if he gets a bad impression of you, right?”

“Right,” she said even though she cared what Ian thought of her. She took a sip of her coffee.

“You're so full of it.” He chuckled. “Hey, I think your phone is ringing.”

“Really?” She pulled her bag closer. Yes, he was right. She took the phone out of her bag, glanced at the display. It was her mother. She accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Hi, darling,” her mother's voice came from the phone's speaker. “I got the picture of the ultrasound.”

Using the multifunction machine in Ian's home office, yesterday she had scanned the small white and black picture the obstetrician had given her and emailed it to Mark and her mother.

“I wish I was there with you, and that I could have heard the baby's heartbeat.”

“Yes, me too.” Jane leaned her elbows on her knees, smiling. She was still surprised how well her pregnancy was being received, not only by her mother and Ian, but also by Ian's relatives.

Mark's phone started to vibrate and he pulled it out of his pocket and answered it.

“You could come with me next time,” Jane said to her mother. “Could you take a day off of work?”

“I probably could. When?” her mother asked.

“Yes, she's with me,” Mark said to whomever he had on the other end of the line.

“On Wednesday at three. It's actually my first Prenatal Care visit, so you'll probably have to wait in the waiting room.” Jane glanced at Mark, who was just explaining into the phone where they were.

“I wouldn't mind waiting,” her mother said.

“I would like to have you there with me.”

“Then you'll have me.” The sound of a dog barking came from the background and a male voice yelling. With a sharp tone in her voice, her mother said, “Shiva, bad dog. Bad dog. Stop it. Stop it! Sit!” Then she explained to Jane, “Shiva bit your father's pants leg and she's refusing to let go, even though she sat down.” Her voice darkened. “Your father finds the whole things amusing.”

Shiva was their family dog, a German shepherd, who liked to latch onto her father's clothes and tug him around, never obeying his command to let him go.

“Oh, I have to go, darling, and do something before she rips his new pants. We just bought them. I'll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Jane said and hung up. She put the phone back in her bag then faced Mark, who was still on the phone, giggling into it like a schoolgirl.

He covered the phone's speaker. “It's Ian,” he said before he pressed the phone against his ear again.

Lifting her eyebrows, Jane shook her head. She lifted the cup to drink, when she noticed it was empty. She put it down and waited for Mark to end his conversation. “What did he want?”

“Just asking if I was with you and where we were. It seems he called you at the same time as your mother, so your line was busy.”

Jane's eyes slightly narrowed. “When did you two become such pals?”

“When you got pregnant.”

“Are you two talking about me behind my back?”

“No,” Mark said and innocently started to sip from his cup.

“You do.” Jane dramatically gasped. “You vile creature.”

Mark grinned.

“This is so high school.”

“With the exception that we didn't hang out with a hot, rich boy toy in high school. Just imagine how popular we would have been if we had socialised with somebody like Ian. We would probably have been allowed to hang out with the Golden Four. You remember them, don't you?”

“Yes, I do. The most popular four girls. I never cared much for them,” Jane said. “About Ian...you haven't told him about... you know...”

“About what?”

“That I'm... that I have these feelings for him.”

“That you are in love with him. No, I haven't mentioned anything to him, but if you don't start the ass-flashing project, I just might.”

“Is that a threat?” Jane stood, grimacing, her hand going to her hip, her body curling sideways.

“What is it?” Mark jumped up, his hand grabbing her elbow, supporting her.

“I'm a little sore.”

“Because of the fall?” He released her.

“Yes.” Jane straightened.

“Why are you moving then?”

“Because I want another cup of coffee. And another croissant -- no, make that two croissants.” She took a step toward the coffee shop across the street. She glanced over her shoulder. “Lately I'm always so hungry. It must be the pregnancy.”

“It must be your gluttony.” Mark grabbed her arm and gently tugged her backward until her legs touched the bench. “You’ve already had two cups of coffee. Don't you think that's enough for today?”

“You're such a mother hen.” She rolled her eyes. “I'll just get decaf then.”

“Sit down,” Mark softly ordered her. “I'll go get it for you.”

“Don't you trust that I'll get decaf?” She lifted her eyebrows, a smile playing on her lips. She lowered herself on the bench.

“I trust you. I do,” Mark said. “I just enjoy being your errand boy.”

“Oh, yeah. Then go, errand boy.” She waved him off. “Bring me some brew and scone.”

“Wait here, okay? Right in this spot.”

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Go.” She waved him away again.

He smiled, turned and followed the path that led to the street.

She watched him as he crossed the road before she leaned back, closed her eyes and lifted her face up to enjoy the gentle rays of the late-spring sun. Summer was just around the corner and with it the promise of heat and summer showers. She liked summer, the heat didn't bother her too much; well, as long as it wasn't hot and humid. Hot and humid, somehow those words together brought an image of Ian before her eyes. She could see him before her, just after his exercise, bare-chested and with a thin layer of perspiration covering his well-toned arms, chest and abdomen. And those muscles on his back, the way they moved... She licked her lips.

A shadow veiled the sun.

Her eyes popped open to see Ian standing before her, his arms akimbo, a small smile playing in the corners of his mouth. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He sat on the bench beside her.

“Is your meeting already over?”

“Yes.”

She nodded and fixed her gaze on the grass below her feet, suddenly feeling shy. He had such a lovely voice, deep and slightly hoarse. When he lowered it, as he did when he was calling her name, she could feel it vibrating in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to hear it more, his voice. And not just hear it. She wished to feel it brushing against her skin. She glanced at him.

His ice-blue eyes looked at her. He smiled.

She smiled back before her gaze fixed at the grass again.

His fingers touched her temple.

She froze, watching him from the corner of her eye.

His touch glided toward the hairline, avoiding her glasses as he gathered her hair, which he tucked behind her ear. “How are you feeling?”

“You have already asked me that a thousand times today.”

“And, how are you feeling?”

“Fine. Still sore, just like I was three hours ago.”

“Have you tried that pine ointment that I gave you?” His hand caressed its way down her neck.

“No, not yet.” Her eyes closed and her mind concentrated on the touch of his fingers. It was so gentle, his caress, like a brush of silk. Yes, it was gentle and soft, and so precious like the love she felt for him. She sadly smiled to herself.