Miranda Lee - It Started With A Kiss

She smiled. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of refreshing.’

‘Now, that’s something I haven’t been called before. Refreshing.’

‘Take it as a compliment.’

‘Oh, I will, don’t worry.’

Her head tipped to one side as her eyes searched his face. ‘You really are a nice man, Rafe Saint Vincent. And a very snazzy dresser. Love that black and white shirt. Can I borrow it some time?’

‘You can borrow anything of mine you like. Sorry I can’t return the compliment. I have a feeling I wouldn’t look too good in any of your clothes.’

They were both smiling at each other when the waiter materialised by their side again with the champagne, which he duly poured, then asked if they’d like to order. Rafe did, with Isabel surrendering the choice to him, saying she liked the look of everything on the menu anyway and had recently used up all her decision-making powers.

He grinned and chose a Thai beef and noodle dish for an entrée and a grilled barramundi for the main, with a salad side plate.

‘And mango cheesecake for dessert,’ he finished up. ‘We’ll also be ordering more wine with each course. Do you have any half-bottles?’

‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t. However, you can order any of the wines listed by the glass.’

‘Really? What happens to the rest of the bottle if no one else orders it?’

The waiter gave a small smirk as he whisked the menus away. ‘It doesn’t go to waste, sir. Be assured of that.’

‘I’ll bet,’ Rafe said drily after the waiter departed. ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall of the kitchen every night after closing.’

‘There are always perks to any job,’ Isabel pointed out.

‘Oh? And what were the perks of being a receptionist at a big city architectural firm?’

Isabel frowned. ‘How did you know that was my job?’

‘I found out when I rang Les and told him your wedding was off. We had quite a chat about you. He thinks you’re a dish and wanted to know what I thought of you.’

‘And you said?’

‘I was suitably complimentary but discreet. Not a word about this little jaunt, since it was obvious he knew your family fairly well.’

‘Fancy that. Rafe Saint Vincent—the soul of discretion.’

‘I have many hidden virtues.’

‘Some not so hidden,’ she said saucily.

‘Naughty girl. But back to the original question. What perks were there in your job beside meeting multi-millionaire architects?’

‘Not too many, actually. Free ball-point pens? And we won’t count meeting Luke, since that didn’t work out. I don’t have to ask you what the perks of your job are. I’ve seen them on the walls of your office.’

Rafe frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, come now, lover, those photographs speak for themselves. They have foreplay written all over them.’

‘You think I slept with all those women?’

‘Didn’t you?’ Isabel picked up her crystal flute of champagne and began to sip.

‘Heck, no. There were at least one or two who held out.’

Isabel spluttered into the glass.

‘But they were lesbians.’

Isabel had to put down her glass.

‘Stop it,’ she choked out, and mopped up around her laughing mouth with her serviette.

‘Would you like me to photograph you like that?’

Isabel swallowed. ‘In the nude, you mean?’

‘Good heavens, no. You saw my photographs. I never take full nudes. You can wear earrings, if you like. And those shoes.’ One eyebrow arched wickedly as he peered at her sexily shod feet through the glass table. ‘Oh yes, definitely those shoes.’

‘You’re teasing me.’

‘Yep. I didn’t bring my camera with me. Unfortunately.’

Thank Heaven, she thought. Because no doubt she would have let him photograph her just like that. Her behaviour with him since arriving on this island had been nothing short of outrageous.

‘So!’ she said, and swept up her champagne glass again. ‘Tell me why you’re opposed to my decision to have a baby alone.’

He smiled a wry smile. ‘A change of subject, I presume. A wise move.’ Just thinking about photographing her in nothing but earrings and those shoes was making him decidedly uncomfortable, especially since he was wearing rather tight jeans.

Rafe picked up his champagne, took a couple of sips and put his mind to answering her very pertinent question. If she hadn’t brought up the subject of having a baby herself, he would have worked his way round to it. He hesitated to tell her what he really thought of her decision to have a baby alone by artificial insemination. She was determined anyway, and they’d just end up arguing. What he needed to know was the likelihood of her having conceived his child today.

‘I just think it was a hasty decision, and one made on the rebound after Luke. You’re still a young woman, Isabel, with well over a decade of baby-making capabilities left. You have more than enough time to find a suitable father for your baby before launching into motherhood alone. I think you should wait and see if he turns up.’

‘Look, I told you. I tried finding Mr Right both with my heart and then my head and I bombed out both ways. No. I can’t keep on waiting. And you’re wrong about my having a lot of time. A woman might be theoretically capable of having a child right up until menopause, but the odds of her conceiving and carrying a healthy baby full term start to go downhill after she reaches thirty. No, Rafe, my biological clock is ticking and, knowing my luck, it’s probably about to blow up. The time for action is now.’

Rafe had a bit of difficulty keeping a straight face. Little did Isabel know but the time for action might very well have been this afternoon!

‘I see,’ he muttered, dropping his eyes towards his champagne for a few seconds before looking up again. ‘So if your marriage to Luke had gone ahead, you were planning to get pregnant pretty well straight away, then?’

Isabel sighed. ‘Yes.’

‘On this honeymoon?’

‘Uh-huh. I had it all worked out, right to the very hour and the day.’

‘Hard to pinpoint ovulation with that kind of accuracy, isn’t it?’

‘Not when you’re as regular as I am, and when you’ve taken your temperature every day for three months.’

‘And?’ Rafe prompted. ‘When would the critical time have been?’

‘What? Oh, not till tomorrow, I think. Yes, Thursday. I do everything on a Thursday. Ovulate and get my period. Regular as clockwork, I am. Twenty-eight days on the dot. My girlfriends at work always used to envy the fact I was never taken by surprise, which was true. I used to pop into the loo at morning tea on P-day because I knew, come noon, the curse would arrive.’

‘The curse?’

‘That’s what we women call it. You don’t think it’s a pleasure, do you? Oh, but this is a depressing topic. Would you mind if we changed the subject again? Let’s talk about you.’

‘Fine,’ Rafe said, his head whirling. Thursday. Did sperm live for a full day? He was pretty sure it was possible, but she’d got up and had a shower soon afterwards. The odds weren’t on his side.

Weren’t on his side! Was he mad? He should have been relieved. He didn’t really want to be a father, did he? Did he?

He looked at Isabel and realised he did. With her, anyway.

The realisation took his breath away.

He reefed his eyes away and stared down at the pool. Stared and stared and stared. And then his eyes flung wide. Who would have believed it?

‘Rafe? Rafe, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.’

His gaze swung back to her and he almost laughed. ‘I have. In a way. See that blonde frolicking down in the pool?’

‘The one with the really big bazookas?’