Midwife in the Family Way (3 page)

‘So?' he said.

What on earth was he saying? ‘So, what?'

He sighed. Patiently, as if with a child, and with this man she was beginning to feel like one. Not something she'd felt since she the age of sixteen and not something she decided she enjoyed. ‘Will you join me for a meal, please, Emma?'

Her heart did that fish thing again. Now? ‘Aren't you going back to Angus's?'

He shook his head once in the dimness. ‘His stepmother is there tonight. I dined with him last night and we talked. I will lunch with him tomorrow before I leave.'

Emma filled the silence while she considered the implications of his invitation. ‘Angus had a wonderful relationship with Ned since he'd made up with his
father.' Her mind skittered to the idea of dining alone with Gianni in an intimate setting and away again. Her thoughts went back to Angus. It was safer. ‘He seems to be at peace with Ned's passing.'

‘Yes.' Gianni inclined his head while he contemplated her profile. ‘Thankfully they had time to enjoy each other's company. And Angus was instrumental in my recent contact with my brother. But you haven't answered my question.'

The guy had a single focus. She went with the answer she'd known she'd make from the beginning. To live dangerously. ‘Perhaps. I need to eat.' She looked down at her grubby skirt that she'd played cricket in. ‘I'd like to get changed, though.'

He nodded again. ‘How much time do you need?'

She thought about it. How much did she really need? Five minutes. ‘Half an hour,' she said.

‘Good.' Satisfaction was obvious. ‘Much faster than I expected.'

She tried vainly not to smile and she hoped he didn't see or think she was making fun of him. ‘It's this house, with the roses over the gate.'

She lifted her hand to the handle and his fingers came over the top to stay it. ‘Please wait for me to open it,' he said quietly, and her hand froze under his. She sighed and leaned back against the leather.

She'd been right. His skin was warm and made the gooseflesh pop up on her arms like bubbles in the muddy sand at the edge of the lake. His hand moved away and
she would have sworn his fingers were still there. Hot over hers.

If he could do that with just a touch, she was in big trouble if she invited anything else. But she wouldn't. It was just a meal, she was feeling flat after the funeral and Grace was away, and she didn't get to eat at the Lakeside very often. Never had, actually.

He opened her car door and she climbed out. It seemed a waste of energy to her but the cosseting was strangely compelling. He ushered her through the gate and up the path to her front door like an old-fashioned footman. Then waited while she unlocked the door and only left her when she entered her house, but he didn't drive away until she'd shut the door.

She heard the roar of the car as it accelerated away and Emma's heart flopped around as she leant back against the closed door. Her hand actually slid to her throat where her pulse pounded. What had happened to her in the last five minutes? It had just been a lift a few hundred metres but she felt vibrantly alive. Ridiculously so.

There were a hundred good reasons not to be attracted to this man, or any man for that matter, and fifteen good reasons to wallow in it.

The hundred were all complications and she didn't need them.

The fifteen were about the number of good years she estimated she had before the disease that had turned her graceful and gracious mother into a tormented bed
ridden shell of a woman could begin to do the same to her.

Fifty per cent chance of having the gene. In the last few years Emma had toyed briefly with the idea of taking the final genetic test, a test that could prove her fate irrevocably, but she'd always come back to that tiny spark of hope she'd not inherited the predisposing gene. She didn't think she'd cope if that hope was gone. She couldn't give up that tiny beam of optimism that once lost would never return.

Her arms crept around her waist and Gianni was forgotten, everything was forgotten, as her worst nightmare touched her again with cold fingers of dread.

The fear was for Grace, her daughter, and the fact that if Emma was shadowed then Grace had a fifty per cent chance of having it, too. Emma couldn't do it. At this time in her life she couldn't live with Grace being positive for Huntington's disease.

Instead, Emma lived her life as if she had only until she turned forty, like her mother had before she'd become ill, and she saved every penny to ensure Grace would have the choices for the support Emma might not be able to give.

But for this moment Emma was alive, she was well, and apparently she was an attractive woman. Not something she'd thought about for a very long time. She didn't know when she'd decided that she
wanted
to savour a little of what Gianni had to offer. If he was offering anything apart from a meal, that was.

She'd never looked for another boyfriend after she
and Tommy had drifted apart. She'd been too busy. Too focussed.

As two sixteen-year-olds she and Tommy had discovered they'd little in common except Grace, and Emma had been sensible enough not to tie herself to a man she'd already grown out of. Tommy had left to see the world with Emma's blessing. But maybe she'd missed out on the subtle thrill of a man's appreciation.

In fact, even with the little exposure to Gianni's attention today she'd begun to revel in the unfamiliar feeling of being a fragile flower to be cherished and taken care of. Not something she had any experience of and no doubt it would irk her very quickly in the real world, but this was an out-of-the-ordinary opportunity to let herself be spoiled.

And there was something about Gianni that called to her in a way she'd never heard before. Heaven forbid, there might be a fabulous encounter her body was trying to tempt her into, and the idea had a compulsive magnetism, like the man did. As long as she was careful and it didn't get out of hand.

Gianni was right out of her comfort zone. And he was leaving soon. To go back to Italy. If she made a fool of herself, he was a ship in the night with a home port she couldn't get much further away from than inland Queensland.

She looked at her watch and bounced away from the door as if someone had poked her with a cattle prod. She'd wasted five minutes!

T
WENTY-FIVE
minutes later Gianni knocked on Emma's door and the sound echoed through Emma's chest and under her ribcage. Boom. Boom. Boom. He was here. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a real date. Probably never.

She sucked in her breath and ran her tongue inside her gums to make sure she didn't have any lipstick on her teeth. Still not convinced, she grimaced toothily at the mirror on the way to her door. Yep. All was well. Another deep breath as she paused and hoped she'd dressed right. She opened the door.

Christo.
Gianni sucked his own lungful of air. Emma's blonde hair was loose over her shoulders and she'd abandoned the pink lipstick for a deep sultry red that matched the lush material of her blouse. To call it a blouse was a blasphemy. The soft material clung like a skin and lingered like his eyes on the swell of her breasts and plunged, also like his eyes, down into a V of paradise.

His breath jammed for a moment and then resumed,
like his mesmerised surveillance of her preparations. All this in half an hour?

He'd never been attracted to trousers on women, preferring the femininity of a swirling skirt, but when she twirled to show him, the way her firm buttocks snuggled into the stretchy black material made his eyes blink. Then she moved back further to open the door for him and he could see it hung almost like a skirt, lots of fabric swirling around her legs from the tight tapering waist, teasing him with the thought of it in a pool of darkness at her feet.

‘Hello?' Her voice broke the spell and he blinked and swore again in his head. What was it about this woman that grabbed him by the throat and demolished his brain? ‘
Bella.
You are beautiful and took my breath away.'

She laughed. Softly, and to him like the musical bells of his favourite chapel. Everything she did entranced him. ‘Thank you.' she said. ‘The men around here would be far too embarrassed to say that out loud.'

He frowned. ‘I speak the truth.' He glanced around the inside of her house. A welcoming room, evidence of a family and very clean. But he wanted her in the dark, beside him in the close confines of the car, somewhere he could inhale her scent and absorb the vibrations her body caused in his. With no distractions. ‘Shall we go?'

‘Did you manage to get a table in the restaurant?'

He frowned again. Why would he not? ‘Of course.'
She glanced away and shook her head slightly, and he was teased by the tiny smile she tried to hide. ‘I amuse you?'

‘Very much so. But it's nice because you are so very different from the men around here.' She walked past him onto the veranda, the hint of roses she left in her wake teasing him almost more than her words, and then she handed him her house keys. ‘I'm guessing you want to lock the door?'

‘
Grazie
. You learn.' Her profile against the lights from the veranda made his eyes gleam. Did she have no idea how seductive she looked in those trousers? He had changed his preferences already.

‘I'm a smart woman.' She tossed her head teasingly.

The movement exposed her throat to the light. ‘And very beautiful.'

‘I could get used to this.' He heard the whispered words but was sure he'd not been meant to. How could this woman not have a hundred men beating a path to her door? It was a tragedy he went home tomorrow or he would have shown her what she deserved—or maybe it was a good thing. Either way he could introduce her to the way she should be cared for tonight.

As Gianni followed her down the path and under the rose arch he had the sudden urge to reach out and halt her progress, turn her beautiful face toward him and taste the promise he saw while the heady fragrance drifted around them, but he held back. Something he
would regret later. No doubt the scent of roses would remind him of this moment that could have been.

This time she'd waited beside the car for him to open the door and the sleeping animal inside him growled complacently at securing her compliance. That beast had been dormant for a very long time and he'd forgotten the taste of cosseting a woman.

When she was seated he bent to lift a swathe of material from the hem of her trousers that had fallen outside the door and the material cascaded across his palm and fell like liquid around her tiny feet. All sensory input that teased him more. He clenched his fingers as he moved back to shut the door before he trod with restrained haste to join her. Still he could feel the material, cool and seductive like the woman who awaited him. She had him entranced.

Gianni's door closed quietly as he was seated and Emma felt the car shrink to only the space between them. Yet not claustrophobic. Different. It felt intimate and exciting, and every nerve in her body seemed to be waving its receptors at the man beside her. Strange feelings for a woman who thrived on control and organisation.

He glanced across before he started the engine and it was as if he touched her. A slow caress. Hurriedly she did up her seat belt.

He smiled, and his eyes seemed to glow like a brown-eyed tiger, and her belly kicked. ‘I could have helped,' he said.

She rubbed her arms. Not likely, buddy. The thought of his hand at her waist gave her more goose-bumps.

‘Do you live in your house all alone?'

She raised her eyebrows at him but doubted he'd see that in the dashboard light. ‘Not something I should tell a man I barely know.'

‘Good,' he said, and she laughed again. He was funny. And old-fashioned, and yet she had the feeling that his moral code might bend dramatically when it was his own desires that were at stake. She didn't think he realized how at sea she was. Luckily.

She looked out the window and back again. ‘I live with my daughter. My father comes sometimes to stay when he can and my brothers used to live there but the last of them has just married. They're all shift workers so they used to come and go a lot anyway.'

‘In my country, alone in a house is not good for a woman and her daughter. It is different here?'

She frowned. Now he'd annoyed her. Though, if she was honest, maybe a little of her response was due to the fact she didn't want to think about the example she was setting to her daughter by going out with a man who made her feel sexy for the first time in her life. ‘Yes,' she said shortly. ‘My daughter is safe. Lyrebird Lake is a safe place. We have very little crime. I know everyone in town.'

His heavy brows drew together. ‘And people don't drift through?' His voice was dry. ‘I'm sure Angus said there is a working mine? A transient miner population only up the road.'

She tilted her head at him. Defiantly. ‘Where I live is fine. And not your concern.' His interest had become too pointed. ‘In this country customs differ. Did you say we would eat?'

He sat back, and then nodded. ‘My apologies. It is none of my business.' He started the car and of course now she felt guilty… But then she shrugged in the dark. He could get over it. Get used to the way women could look after themselves in Australia. Had to look after themselves. She thought with amusement about Tommy and her brothers, and the way she more looked after them. They should fly a women's independence flag for her at Lyrebird Lake.

No conversation occurred until they drove into the cobbled courtyard of the Lakeside and the restaurant lights spilled into the car park and reflected back off the water.

She stayed in her seat, very tempted to open her own door just to tease him, but that would be petty. Was she bored with his old-fashioned manners already? Her door swung away and he held his hand out to help her.

‘May I assist you?' His voice was low and courteous, no hint of assertiveness as it curled around her like a tender scarf. It was interesting he hadn't presumed this time.

No, she wasn't bored with being spoilt, she thought as she shivered in the sensations and hugged them to herself. His fingers were warm and strong when she took his hand, just like last time, and she felt the same
burning sensation up her arm and the tightening of her breasts.

‘Are you cold?'

He was genuinely attentive. She didn't know how to deal with the unfamiliarity of his concern. ‘A little,' she prevaricated, more to hide her embarrassment, and instantly he slipped his jacket off and the warmth of man-heated silk caressed her shoulders.

Like an unexpected gift the subtle wash of his after-shave mixed with the scent of male bombarded already overloaded senses and her heel slipped on the cobbles under her feet as she actually felt faint for a second.

His arm came around her. ‘Are you well?' He frowned down at her. ‘It has been an emotional day. Perhaps I should take you home.'

‘No, I'm fine. Really.' She straightened out of his embrace and stepped back. ‘I just slipped in my heels.' Her heart was thumping in her chest like a drum and she took a long cool breath of the night air into her lungs and stood tall. Or as tall as she could with her height. Despite the pinching in her toes she definitely needed high heels with this guy. ‘I'm fine,' she said again. ‘Just a silly slip. Let's go in.'

His brows remained creased, but he nodded reluctantly. ‘As you wish.' He glanced over her attire again with a tiny glint in his eyes. ‘It would be a shame not to share your beautiful preparations with the world.'

Yes, she thought dryly. She could hardly wait for the gossip. It would fly.

The restaurant was dimly lit with red lamps in
brackets on the wall and candles on the tables. Maybe no one would see her. They were led to a white linen-covered table that faced out over the lake, a shiny-green-leafed ficus provided privacy from the next couple and the room buzzed with the hum of quiet conversations.

‘And a good table, as well,' Emma said with a glance around, and strangely, for a town she'd grown up in, there wasn't a familiar face to be seen. But other tables seemed as private or strategically placed as theirs so maybe there were. Either way, the town would hear tomorrow that Emma had been out with a
man
! And a stranger.

She handed him back his jacket and Gianni lifted one imperious eyebrow as he waited for her to be seated but didn't comment. She didn't need it when she'd only been covering her nervousness anyway.

She sat and he did too and suddenly her brain froze as she had a brief moment of panic about what conversation she could make with this Italian she barely knew in such an intimate setting. How would they fill the time between courses?

It wasn't like she did this every night. Or spoke to strange men. The only men she conversed with were her family and friends and husbands and partners of women she cared for in labour. Then again, Gianni looked to be socially practised enough for both of them. She hoped.

His pale grey suit shone discreetly and she guessed some designer's label would be sewn inside on silk, and
his shirt and tie, though understated, shrieked unlimited funds.

The maître d' draped the starched napkin across her lap and reverently handed her the menu. The choices had no prices, not to trouble her pretty head over cost, she guessed, and she smiled. Well, well, Lyrebird Lake. You multi-layered lady. Her country town had city chic. She'd had no idea. Another first, and she was going to enjoy the experience. If it killed her.

Her escort bent his head to discuss wine with the waiter and her eyes were drawn to the harsh lines of Gianni's face. Such a strong and arrogant jaw, angular cheek bones and a Roman nose that proclaimed lineage and power. He could almost be classified as too grand to relax with yet she didn't feel intimidated by him. Especially now she'd decided this was going to be fun.

She wondered why she still felt secure. He was certainly imposing, and so different from any man she knew, but something in his eyes, and perhaps that obscure vulnerability only she seemed to see in the chiselled fullness of his mouth, drew her like a moth to a flame and dared her to touch the light. Thrilled her with danger that crackled along her nerves and dusted the smile on her lips that she couldn't seem to lose.

He took his eyes from the waiter as if he felt her appraisal. His eyebrows lifted and she was trapped. Trapped by his interest, his fascination for her. Trapped by heat. Trapped by the feeling she had to take this moment or regret it for ever. Her brain suggested she
look away but there was no way she actually could and her smile dimmed.

The hum from the other diners faded and slowly warmth infused into her skin.

‘Champagne?' There was a low caressing nuance in his voice that raised the gooseflesh in a response she couldn't hide.

Emma swallowed, had to to make her voice work. ‘Thank you.' What havoc would alcohol wreak on her already shaky control? she mocked herself. Then again, maybe she'd be less agitated.

He indicated with his eyes to the menu, frozen in her hands.

‘Have you chosen?'

Food. She'd forgotten food. She flicked a glance at the blur of words on the page. ‘It all looks wonderful.'

He smiled. ‘Perhaps the seafood platter? For two?'

His knee grazed hers under the table and her heart skidded like a stone across the water outside. It was ridiculous, the impact of a slide of material on material, but there was no doubt she was as receptive to him as a ripple on the lake.

‘Fine,' she managed, and recited
Fun
over and over to herself in her mind as she took a sip of mineral water the waiter had poured. The liquid was cold and delicious and much better for her state of mind than the flute of sparkling wine that arrived magically, complete with moisture-blushed strawberries on a tiny silver salver.

He removed his attention for a moment while he discussed the menu with the waiter and her shoulders
sagged a little in relief. When had it stopped being fun and become a battle to prevent her body from leaning to wards him so she could sit and stare at him like a gawky teen? She focussed on the reflection of the candlelight on her cutlery.