She turned then and her golden eyes met his. ‘I couldn’t do it, Alex. I could never do what Jacqueline did. I could never deny my child its father.’
He closed his eyes, tried to block out al her goldenness and the spel she was threatening to weave about him.
‘Like I said,’ she continued, ‘I’m not asking you to respond to any of this. It’s just…’
He opened his eyes. He couldn’t help it.
‘The thing is, Alex, if you’re using that as an excuse to avoid fatherhood then you’re going to have to come up with another one because that one doesn’t exist.’
A hole opened up inside his chest. ‘I’m sorry your father did that to you, Kit. You can rest assured that I would never do that to your child.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You mean to hurt it in an entirely different way. At least I met my father and had a chance to know him and find out who he was.
Even if he did disappoint me, at least it stopped me from building unrealistic fantasies around him.’
Was that what their child would do?
‘Anyway—’ Kit shook herself ‘—enough of al that for one day. Wanna learn how to clean and scale a fish?’
He tried to match her tone. ‘How could I resist an offer like that?’
Her laugh could no longer lighten his heart. Her father’s absence had left a hole in Kit’s life, had left an indelible impression there that nothing could erase. Alex hadn’t meant to do harm to anyone. But his actions had harmed Kit, and they would harm her unborn child’s.
unborn child’s.
His child.
He dragged a hand down his face.
‘So you’re squeamish, huh?’
He pul ed his hand away to find her attempting to demonstrate the correct way to gut a fish.
She cocked an eyebrow. ‘Not going to throw up, are you?’ Her half-grin robbed the words of their sting.
He wanted to lay himself at her feet and beg her to forgive him. For everything.
He didn’t. Instead, he took al of the fish from her hands and, fol owing her instructions, cleaned each and every one of them. It was the least he could do.
‘Excel ent.’ She took the last fish, bundled up their things and made to leave their rock. ‘I’l cook dinner tonight.’
‘Hey, hold on a moment. You can’t cook.’ He took the net and the bucket from her hand and handed her the lightweight rod instead.
Her eyes danced. ‘I said I don’t cook. That doesn’t mean I can’t cook. And I can certainly do fish on the barbecue, jacket potatoes and a tossed salad.’
His mouth watered.
They walked back the length of the breakwater.
Kit hummed, but Alex’s mind churned. And then Kit halted mid-hum, and just stopped to stare.
At a mother and her baby swimming—floating—
together in the shal ows of the Rock Pool. A pre-toddler-sized baby. A little girl if the pink bathers and sunhat were anything to go by.
A little girl. Alex’s thoughts tumbled to a halt. He couldn’t drag his eyes from that baby. A great aching hole cracked open inside him.
‘Cute, huh?’ Kit whispered.
Yes!
Confusion, fear, desire al whipped through him.
Kit’s father had only visited Kit a few times a year. It had been enough for her until she’d discovered his betrayal. Could Alex manage that kind of minimal contact—three or four visits a year?
He’d thought his staying away would be best for this child. Now he wasn’t so sure. Kit’s story had shaken him, left him stranded in uncertain territory with the ground shifting beneath his feet.
‘Did you find out?’ The question scraped out of his throat, unbidden. He hadn’t meant to ask it. He hadn’t known he’d wanted to ask it.
‘Did I find out what?’
She continued to stare at the baby. Her face had gone soft, her lips curved upwards and her eyes shone. His heart pounded against the wal s of his ribs. ‘Did you find out the sex of the baby?’
She turned and smiled. ‘No. I want it to be a surprise. But if you’d like to know I’m sure the doctor would tel you.’
Her smile, her words, they took his breath away.
Perhaps she meant it. Perhaps she would let him be part of her baby’s life.
He stared at the mother and baby in the shal ows below and his arms started to ache with the longing for a child’s weight. Three or four times a year, it wasn’t much to ask. He remembered the smel of a baby. The newly washed, baby-powdered and slightly milky smel . The softness of a baby’s skin.
The surprising strength when a tiny hand gripped a finger.
Three or four times a year…
He scratched a hand back through his hair and then, without another word, he swung away and strode off towards the car.
CHAPTER NINE
‘THE barbecue is ready to go.’
Kit’s breath hitched, but she refused to turn from the bench where she tossed the salad. Alex—freshly showered—was making her heart beat just a little too hard. That was why she’d sent him outside to clean the barbecue plate.
‘Is it lit?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Her lips twitched at his mock subservience. She doubted Alex had a subservient bone in his body.
Nice body, though.
Oh, stop it!
She finished tossing the salad and wished her pulse would settle as easily. She tried to force her mind to mundane matters. Cooking, dinner, food.
Her mind refused. It wanted to dwel on Alex. On the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his thighs. Thighs she’d had ample opportunity to examine when they’d been sitting on the breakwater.
She tried to resist glancing around at him. And failed. He met her gaze, moistened his lips. She wanted to groan. She wanted to reach up and wipe the tempting shine away.
That kiss on the breakwater…
Momentary lapse of concentration, her foot! It had been heaven.
And she’d love a repeat performance.
Her gaze zeroed in on those lips—lean, firm and magical. Alex cleared his throat. ‘What can I do now?’
His voice came out hoarse. She wrenched her gaze away. Cooking, dinner, food, that was what she needed to concentrate on.
Food…um—she’d seasoned the fish with butter, lemon juice and fresh herbs before wrapping them in foil. They’d take no time at al to cook.
Dinner…um—she glanced at the stove. Jacket potatoes were nearly done. Salad was tossed.
Cooking…um—she lifted the platter of fish.
‘You can get out of my way, for starters, because this master chef needs room to move.’
With a bow, Alex held the door open for her. Her heart gal oped at the grin he sent her, flip-flopped and then gal oped again. She did her best to ignore it. ‘Could you bring that plate of corncobs with you?’
She sent up a prayer of thanks that her voice actual y worked.
After arranging the food on the barbecue, she glanced around her garden. The light was pink and gold and promised to last for another hour yet. A light breeze made the very top of the banksia sway every now and again. ‘How about we eat out here?’
‘A picnic?’
She wondered when Alex had last been on a picnic. She’d bet it was a long time ago. ‘Freshly caught fish tastes better eaten out of doors.’
Besides, he had sanded her two Cape Cod chairs and accompanying table and had painted them a crisp, clean white. They were crying out to be used.