Executive: Expecting Tiny Twins Page 3

  She arranged the ten good books she’d brought on her desk, and set up her laptop, checked that the Internet connection worked—yes, thank heavens—and downloaded a raft of emails from her office.

  Out of habit, she answered them promptly, although she would have loved to ignore them today and to wander down the hall to the old-fashioned bathroom, to take a long soak in the deep, claw-foot tub she’d spied there. Just as she would have loved to take a little nap on the big white bed, with the French doors open to catch the breeze blowing in from the paddocks.

  She couldn’t slacken off on her very first day. It was important to prove to herself and to her colleagues that this month-long retreat would not stop her from working.

  With business emails completed, Lizzie sent a quick message of thanks to Kate Burton, telling her that she’d arrived safely. She considered gently chiding Kate for not warning her about Jack’s youth, but she decided that even a gentle protest might give Kate the wrong idea.

  She also sent a quick note to her mother and another, warmer message to her cousin Isabella in Monta Correnti, telling her about the move to Savannah.

  During Lizzie’s latest trip to Italy, Isabella had surprised everyone by announcing her engagement to Maximilliano Di Rossi. But to Lizzie’s dismay, the exciting news had been rather overshadowed by the terrible animosity that flared up, worse than ever, between her mother and Isabella’s father, Luca.

  There’d been ongoing tensions between the two families for decades now, fuelled by the fierce rivalry between their restaurants, “Sorella” and “Rosa”, which stood next door to each other in Monta Correnti.

  Lizzie, however, had always been close friends with Isabella, and she was determined to keep in touch with her now as an important step in her plan to build bridges across the family divide.

  In her private life and her public life Lizzie Green planned to become a stress-free zone…

  And with her duties accomplished, the big white bed still beckoned.

  Really, she found herself asking, what was the harm? She’d been fighting tiredness ever since she’d first become pregnant—and there’d been an embarrassing occasion when she’d nodded off during a senate enquiry into the cost of roadworks in new mining areas.

  Now, she was here in one of the remotest corners of the big empty outback, amazingly free to adjust her schedule in any way she liked, and next to no one would be any the wiser.

  After years of relentless hard work and a punishing schedule, the sudden freedom was scary.

  But it was real.

  Wow.

  Yes, she really was free. Out here, no one would know or care if Senator Elizabeth Green took a long, relaxing bath in the middle of the afternoon. There were no journalists lurking outside the homestead, and Lizzie was free to contemplate the miracle happening inside her.

  As always, her spirits lifted the instant she thought about the tiny little baby growing in her womb.

  She was so, so glad she’d gone along with her plan, in spite of all the worry, and the doubts voiced by her friends.

  ‘A sperm donor, Lizzie? You’ve got to be joking.’

  Her girlfriends hadn’t understood at first, and Lizzie couldn’t really blame them. For years it hadn’t bothered her that she was the only woman in her circle of friends who was still single and babyless. She’d been almost smug, proud that she was an independent thinker, a New Age woman who didn’t bow down to the pressure to follow the crowd. She was focused on a higher calling.

  Unfortunately, the smugness hadn’t lasted.

  At thirty-eight pushing thirty-nine, almost overnight, something had clicked inside her. She’d been gripped by a sudden, deep and painful yearning for the precious, warm weight of a baby in her arms. Not a friend’s baby. Not a niece or a nephew.

  Her baby.

  The longing had become so powerful it had pressed against Lizzie’s heart, becoming a constant ache, impossible to ignore and she’d faced the alarming truth that her body was a ticking time bomb…counting down, down, down…to a lonely and childless future…

  Of course, the lack of a potential father for her baby had posed a hiccup. The scars left first by Mitch, and several years later by Toby, were deep and painful. Still.

  Even so, Lizzie had tried dating. Truly, she had tried. But all the decent guys were already married, and she wasn’t prepared to settle for Mr Good Enough, and there was no way she would leap into a convenient marriage just to have a baby. Where was the morality in that?

  Besides, Lizzie had learned at her mother’s knee that a woman could embrace independence and single motherhood with dignity and flair.

  So she’d settled on a sperm bank, but it had taken twelve nail-biting months before a viable pregnancy was confirmed. By that time, Lizzie had been so fraught and nervous that Kate Burton had kindly insisted that she spend some time at her outback cattle station, where she could enjoy being pregnant out of the spotlight.

  Lizzie had accepted with gratitude.

  She knew only too well that eventually there would be questions, and all kinds of fuss about the sperm-bank decision. People would say that she’d kissed her political career goodbye, but for now she wanted to give her baby its best chance to be born healthy. Already, she loved it fiercely.

  After the birth, she’d find a way to continue her career and raise her child.

  Lizzie Green always found a way.

  But right now, on this sunny autumn afternoon, she was a forty year old woman, pregnant for the first time, and feeling just a little lonely. And more than anything she was tired.

  So why shouldn’t she take that bath? If for no other reason than because she needed to get rid of the gritty red dust between her toes. Already she could picture the soothing ritual of running water, adding a swoosh of the scented salts that Kate had left. A glug of luxurious oil, then sliding down for a long soak.

  And then afterwards, why not a nap?

  At six o’clock, Jack tapped his knuckles on the door to Lizzie’s room to tell her that dinner was ready.

  When there was no answer he cleared his throat and called, ‘Senator Green?’ And then, another knock. ‘Lizzie?’

  Still there was no answer, and he wondered if she’d gone for a walk.

  He’d come to her room via the veranda, so it was a simple matter to lean over the railing to scan the yard and the home paddock, but he saw no sign of her.

  Surely she hadn’t wandered off? Damn it. Was she going to be a nuisance on her very first day here?

  He supposed there was no point in searching elsewhere without checking her room first, so he stepped through the open French doors, and his heart almost stopped beating when he saw her.

  Asleep. Like a modern-day Sleeping Beauty.

  Jack knew exactly what he should do—turn smartly on his heel, march straight back out of the room and knock again loudly, and he should keep on knocking or calling until the senator heard him and woke up.

  Pigs might fly.

  No way on this earth could he move. His feet were bolted to the floor, and his eyes were glued to Lizzie as she lay there.

  She’d changed into soft and faded low-rise jeans and a pale green, sleeveless top with a low neck and little ruffles down the front. The way she was lying, curled on her side, exposed a good six inches of bare midriff.

  Hey, senator, you’re not so bad when you’re asleep.

  Not so bad? Who was he kidding?

  Sleep hadn’t only stolen Lizzie’s haughtiness; it had left her defenceless and vulnerable. Out-of-this-world sexy.

  With the attention of an artist commissioned to paint her portrait, Jack took careful note of details.

  The soft light filtering through the curtains washed her with warm shadows, highlighting the intricate pattern of fine veins on her eyelids, the dusky curve of her lashes, and her dark hair rippling like water over her pillow.

  Her mouth was a lush, full-blown rose, and the scooped neckline of her blouse revealed a little gold cross winking betw
een the voluptuous swell of her breasts. His hands ached to touch her, to trace the cello-like dip and curve of her waist and hip.

  Even her bare feet resting with one pressed against the other were neatly arched and sexy.

  Far out. He had to get out of here fast. This sleeping beauty might look like every temptation known to man, but he knew damn well that the minute she woke she would morph straight back into the officious and cold city senator. So not the kind of woman he’d ever get involved with.

  Jack forced himself to take a step back. And another. Problem was, he was still watching Lizzie instead of where he was going, and he backed into a chest of drawers, sending a hairbrush clattering to the floor.

  She was instantly awake, sitting up quickly, dark hair flying about her shoulders, eyes and mouth wide with shock.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Jack threw up his hands, protesting his innocence. ‘Don’t scream. It’s OK.’

  She was breathing rapidly, clearly frightened and disoriented, but even so she clung to her dignity.

  ‘I’m not in the habit of screaming,’ she said haughtily, while she tugged at the bottom of her blouse with both hands in a bid to close the gap of bare midriff.

  No, Jack thought wryly as he bent to retrieve her silver-backed hairbrush and set it on the chest. Of course she wasn’t a screamer. She was too cool. Too tough.

  ‘I was trying to call you from the veranda, but you were out like a light,’ he said, forcing himself backwards towards the door. ‘I just wanted to let you know that dinner’s ready when you are.’

  ‘Dinner? Already?’ She sent a hasty glance to the fading light outside, then frowned as she reached for the wristwatch on the bedside table. When she saw the time, she let out a huff of annoyance. ‘I’ve been asleep for hours.’

  ‘Half your luck.’

  Clearly Lizzie didn’t agree. Already she was off the bed, shuffling her feet into shoes while tying her hair into a tight, neat knot. ‘Your steaks will be overcooked,’ she said.

  ‘At ease, Lizzie.’

  She went still and frowned at him and Jack wondered what she would do if she knew how amazing she looked at that moment. In the shadowy twilight, with her arms raised to fix her hair, her breasts were wonderfully rounded and lifted, and the luscious gap of creamy skin at her waist was on show once more.

  Jack forced his gaze to the floor. It was clearly too long since he’d had a girlfriend.

  ‘We’re not having steaks tonight,’ he said. ‘There’s a stroganoff and it’s simmering away nicely, so you’ve no need to rush.’

  ‘Stroganoff?’ Lizzie’s eyes widened. ‘You’re serving stroganoff?’

  ‘It’s no big deal.’ Jack shrugged, and began to head back along the veranda, calling over his shoulder, ‘I’ll see you in the kitchen. No hurry. Whenever you’re ready.’

  In the meantime he would go chop firewood, although it wasn’t yet winter. Or he’d make a phone call to his dentist and volunteer to have all his teeth drilled, even though they were cavity-free. Anything to take his mind off his sexy, out-of-bounds houseguest.

  To Lizzie’s surprise, the stroganoff was really good. The beef was tender, the mushrooms plump and sweet, and the sauce super-smooth and tasty. She found that she was hungry—ravenous, in fact, with a new interest in food that had begun when she’d reached the end of her first trimester. As soon as her morning sickness had stopped, her appetite had blossomed.

  Along with her libido. Which no doubt explained the difficulty she was having keeping her eyes off Jack. She didn’t understand how she could find a man who’d slaved over a kitchen stove so incredibly attractive.

  Lizzie respected successful, career-driven men, powerful politicians, or business magnates at the top of the corporate ladder. An unambitious cowboy, who managed a remote cattle property for an imperious old lady, held no appeal whatsoever.

  And yet…she’d never seen blue jeans sit so attractively on a man, and Jack’s shoulders were truly sensational. As for the easy way he moved and the lively sparkle in his eyes…and his smile…

  He made her feel girly and soft.

  Clearly, pregnancy hormones had depleted her common sense and awakened her earthier instincts.

  It was an unsettling problem, and it wasn’t going away.

  ‘This is an excellent meal,’ she admitted, in a bid to keep her mind on the food. ‘I’m impressed.’

  From across the table, Jack accepted her praise with a nonchalant smile. ‘Glad you like it.’ He drank deeply from a glass of beer.

  ‘I suppose it was just a little something you threw together?’

  ‘More or less.’

  Lizzie didn’t return Jack’s smile. Her enjoyment of the meal was somewhat spoiled by her competitive instincts. Already, she was wondering how she could match Jack’s culinary efforts when it was her turn to cook, and she wished she could remember the finer points of her mother’s favourite recipes.

  ‘I’ve heard that country folk are exceptionally resourceful,’ she said. ‘I imagine you’re probably a mechanic, a cook, a cattleman and a businessman all rolled into one.’

  ‘Something like that.’ Jack’s green eyes narrowed. ‘That’s how most city people see us, at any rate. Jack of all trades and master of none.’

  Lizzie was surprised that easy-going Jack was suddenly touchy. Clearly she’d hit a raw nerve.

  Practised at calming touchy politicians, she said, ‘A senator has to be a bit like that, too. Economist one day, social worker the next. You get to be a minor expert in one hundred and one areas of policy.’ A moment later, she asked, ‘Have you always lived in the outback?’

  Jack took his time answering her. ‘Pretty much. Except for the years I spent at boarding school.’

  ‘And did you grow up always wanting to work on the land?’

  This question should have been perfectly harmless, but again it seemed to annoy Jack. Leaning forward, elbows on the table, he twisted his glass between his hands. ‘Did you grow up always wanting to be a politician?’

  ‘Oh—’ Lizzie wasn’t normally thrown by sudden about-turns, but tonight she was off her game. She responded too quickly, ‘Not really. Politics was something I sort of fell into.’

  Jack’s eyes widened with understandable surprise.

  Unhappily, Lizzie set her knife and fork neatly together on her empty plate, sank back in her chair and let out an involuntary sigh. Why on earth had she made such a revealing confession to this man? She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. ‘Everything changed when I went to university.’

  He sent her a teasing grin. ‘Don’t tell me that you fell in with the wrong crowd?’

  ‘I suppose you could say that,’ she replied icily. ‘I met a group of hardworking, committed idealists.’

  Jack pulled a face as if to show that he wasn’t impressed. Then he rose, and took their plates to the sink.

  ‘Well…thanks for dinner.’ Lizzie stood, too. It was time to get back to the work she’d missed while she’d napped. ‘The stroganoff was delicious.’

  ‘Hey,’ he called as she headed for the door, ‘Don’t hardworking, committed idealists help with the dishes?’

  Lizzie’s cheeks grew hot. She hadn’t given dishwashing a thought. Now she imagined standing with Jack at the sink, side by side, chatting cosily, possibly brushing against each other while they washed and dried their dishes.

  ‘I’ll wash up when I cook tomorrow night,’ she said, and, without another word, she made a dignified, if hasty, exit.

  Instead of watching TV as he did most nights, Jack spent the evening in the machinery shed, tinkering with the old station truck. The brakes were dodgy and needed fixing, and he seized the excuse to stay well clear of the homestead, well clear of Lizzie.

  Unfortunately, staying clear of the senator didn’t stop him from thinking about her. He kept remembering the way she’d looked when she was sleeping, kept thinking about her mouth, and how it would taste if he kissed her.

  When he kissed her.

>   He was an A-grade fool.

  He should be remembering how the senator turned starchy as soon as she woke, and the snooty way her lush mouth tightened when he asked her to do a simple thing like help with the dishes. Elizabeth Green was light years away from the kind of girl he was used to. She didn’t even belong on a cattle property.

  He couldn’t imagine why Kate Burton had sent her here. Surely she must have known that Lizzie wouldn’t fit in?

  Jack had lived in the outback all his life and everyone he knew, even the hoity-toity grazier’s wives, pitched in to lend a hand. On a working cattle property, people pulled their weight with everything from opening gates and helping with the dishes, to cooking, gardening, caring for children, mending a fence, or joining the cattle muster. Jack could remember one occasion when his mother had even helped to fight bushfires.

  If the senator thought he was going to run around waiting on her, she had another think coming. She’d waltzed onto Savannah at an extremely inconvenient time, and she certainly couldn’t expect kid-glove treatment.

  If he had his way, he’d bring her down a peg or two.

  Problem was, even though Lizzie was out of place here, and even though she was bossy and citified and bloody annoying, she was incredibly sexy. Maddeningly so. Those lips of hers and those alluring curves were driving Jack crazy. Already, after half a day.

  An entire month of her presence on Savannah was going to be torture.

  If Jack thought it would work, he’d ignore Kate’s request to play host to Lizzie, and he’d ring the contract mustering plant on his satellite phone and offer to trade places with Bill Jervis, his cook.

  Bill was sixty, and a grandfather, and he could keep an eye on Lizzie Green as easily as Jack could, and he could prepare top-class meals for her every night. Jack, on the other hand, could be out on the muster with the stockmen. They had a difficult task, clearing three thousand head of cattle out of some very rough country, and his intimate knowledge of the Savannah terrain would be a definite asset.

  The swapping scheme was beautiful in its simplicity. There was only one problem with it. Jack might be a good stockman, but he’d have a mutiny on his hands if he tried to deprive the ringers of Bill’s cooking.