Nicola Marsh - Australia - Bundles of Joy

‘Couldn’t be weight-related.’

And, just like that, the cosy atmosphere shattered.

Thankful he couldn’t see her face as she rearranged the shelf, she swallowed the lump of emotion that lodged in her throat, mentally kicking herself for believing a guy like Lachlan could be different.

Every man she’d ever known had been obsessed about looks and weight, often making jokes about ‘fat chicks’ who didn’t care about their appearance, or chuckling over advertisements for weight loss centres. She’d learned to steel herself against their cruel judgements, despite the urge to smack them silly.

As for taking a swipe at her own eating habits, only one guy she’d casually dated had ever made that mistake—and she’d let him have it, after accidentally spilling her wine over his crotch.

Lachlan had made several remarks about her body since they’d met and, though he probably saw them as innocuous, she knew what they really were—a sign that he was just like the rest of the guys she’d ever known, hung-up over looks and little else. Not to mention a clear indication she shouldn’t get involved, no matter how much her body kept telling her otherwise.

He didn’t pick up on her stiffening or, if he did, he didn’t let on. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, you look great. Trust me, you’ll love this.’

His qualifier didn’t help. What if she didn’t look great ? Would he even give her the time of day? She doubted it. No male had, not till she’d shed half her bodyweight and almost died in the process.

As for trust, she’d believed in it too many times to count and had been let down every time. People, especially men, were notorious for saying the T word and then doing their best to give you reasons to mistrust them.

Lighten up. Before he takes his business and your chance at promotion elsewhere .

Taking a steadying breath, she turned to face him. ‘What is it?’

‘Close your eyes and let me guide you to it.’

‘This better be good,’ she said, allowing him to guide her through the room and out the door. When in actual fact she felt like bolting through it and not looking back.

‘Oh, it’s better than good.’

His hands were lightly resting on her hips as he gently propelled her forwards, and her skin fairly sizzled where he touched her. Damn her hormones! One minute she thought he was an insensitive clod, the next she wanted to jump him. She needed to get a grip on her wayward emotions—and fast—before she got a grip on him.

‘Just a few more steps … Okay, open your eyes.’

‘How did you know?’ She looked at the plate piled high with doughnuts of every description, from cinnamon-dusted to choc-iced, her mouth watering at the sight.

Okay, so he’d actually meant dessert when he’d said it. Then why did she feel like a child who had just been told that Santa Claus didn’t exist?

He grinned and offered her the plate. ‘I saw the way you were eyeing off my doughnut the other day. If I hadn’t eaten half of it already, I reckon you would’ve snatched it out of my hand and gobbled it in one go.’

‘Very observant.’

If he only knew . She hadn’t just been staring at the doughnut when he’d walked into her office, but at the way his lips had been dusted in sugar and cinnamon, shaken by how much she wanted to lick it off.

‘I’ve heard the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.’ He demolished two doughnuts to her one and she chuckled at his genuine enjoyment. ‘So, sweet tooth or not, dig in.’

Choosing to ignore his earlier jibe about weight for the sake of her job, she selected a choc-iced, silently vowing it would be her one and only. Though she could’ve quite happily eaten the whole plate, her weekly allocation would be blown. She’d have to attend a Pilates class every day of the week to keep in shape.

Though she’d come a long way from her overweight days, the scare she’d received after collapsing, and the resultant devastating news that she wouldn’t bear children, acted as a constant reminder to nurture her body rather than abuse it.

These days she enjoyed every morsel of food that passed her lips, exercised regularly and accepted her body shape—three things she wished she’d done as a vulnerable teen.

‘If you’re trying to butter me up for something, you’re going about it the right way.’

Wiping his hands on a dishcloth, he said, ‘Why do you always suspect an ulterior motive?’

‘Because men usually have one.’ She pronounced it like the fact she knew it to be, at least in her experience.

‘I’m not like all men.’

Well, he’d got that right. ‘Appearances can be deceiving.’

If anyone should know, she should.

‘What you see is what you get with me.’

Her gaze flickered over him, taking in his relaxed posture, one leg crooked over the other, his hands braced at his back. He was propped against the sink, looking sinfully handsome in denim which hugged his hips and a black polo shirt that moulded his torso as if it had been made for him.

If what she saw was what she’d get, she’d be a lucky girl indeed.

‘And what’s that?’

Though she wasn’t in the mood for word games, she had a feeling that the developing tension between them needed to be addressed before she did something crazy, like fling herself at him.

Or, worse yet, sleepwalk right into his bed.

‘Apparently, I’m Mr Perfect.’ He smiled, though she noticed the way he shifted, as if uncomfortable with the tag. ‘Or so you tell me.’

She sighed, wishing she’d never told him that.

‘I might’ve mentioned something along those lines in a moment of weakness, but don’t hold me to it.’

He shrugged, drawing her attention to the breadth of his shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Living up to a title like that would be hell.’

No, hell would be taking a chance on a guy like you .

Trying to ignore her racing pulse, she crossed the kitchen and stood in front of him, torn between wanting to melt into his arms or walking straight past him—and temptation—and out the back door.

‘As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, I’m beat. I think I’ll go to bed.’

She didn’t move a muscle as he leaned towards her, her heart hammering against her ribs. Though she hadn’t meant it as an invitation, she realised her declaration had sounded like one, and her body quivered with anticipation, every fibre alert to a possible incoming sensual assault.

‘Pleasant dreams,’ he murmured, brushing a soft, lingering kiss across her lips, a kiss that left her breathless and yearning.

However, before she could blink, he ran a hand lightly over her hair, cupped her cheek for an instant and walked away.

‘Most men I know are like mascara. They run at the first sign of emotion.’

Tahlia Moran, best friend and cynic .

‘HOW was the weekend?’

Keely plopped on the couch next to Tahlia and hugged a cushion to her chest. ‘Good.’

Tahlia quirked an eyebrow. ‘And I thought Librans were supposed to be well-balanced, eloquent individuals.’

‘What can I say? He lived up to his perfect reputation.’ Worse luck.

‘In and out of the bedroom?’ Tahlia leaned forward, her eyes gleaming at the promise of gossip.

‘I can only vouch for outside of it.’

Her friend’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘You mean he didn’t make a move?’

Keely shook her head, mentally kicking herself for being disappointed.

‘Let me get this straight. This guy goes to all the trouble to get you out to his love-nest by the ocean, practically strips naked in front of you, cooks you dinner and then nothing?’