Nicola Marsh - His Little Miracle - The Billionaire's Baby

‘I really want to move forward. With you.’

Her angst dissipated in an instant, dissolving on a wave of such intense longing she could have quite happily flung herself into his arms across the table and never let go.

Before her common sense kicked in. What was she thinking, considering taking another chance on a guy like Blane?

Sure, his reasons for leaving sounded sincere, and a small part of her agreed they’d probably been too young, too crazy in eloping, but going down that road again after all this time? He’d also been right about the fact they’d both changed and they had grown apart—thanks to him.

‘I can’t.’

Hurt flickered in his eyes, the smoky-blue flecks shimmering, and she reached out to touch his cheek before she could stop herself.

She’d meant her touch to be innocuous, a brief touch on his cheek to prove a point. However, she hadn’t banked on the urge to linger, the tiny prickles of whisker beckoning her to explore, to trace the contours of his cheek with her fingertips ever-so-slowly just as she used to.

Nor had she counted on him capturing her hand, gently scraping her fingers across his cheek, as if trying to imprint the feel of him into her palm.

‘You sure about that?’

She jerked back, withdrawing her hand with the finesse of a wounded rhino, ignoring the questioning gleam in his steady gaze.

‘Because, the way I see it, we’re still married. We still have chemistry, and you still care as much as I do, otherwise why agree to meet me here?’

She’d been asking herself the very same question since she’d agreed to this foolhardy evening.

‘Because you wanted a chance to explain, and I’m a decent enough person to give it to you. But that’s as far as it goes.’

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling into that devastating smile he used to his advantage. What hope did a girl have?

‘Sorry. I’m not buying it.’

‘Fine. You want to know the truth? I said yes because I’ve wasted enough time looking for you, and now that you’re here it’s a good opportunity to get divorced and move on.’

He should have bristled, or been angry, or defensive, or…something!

Instead, he sat back, looking way too relaxed for a guy who was just about to go through what for most people was a major life-changing event. Apparently divorce ranked right up there with death of a spouse and moving house; considering she’d already been through both those cataclysmic events six years ago—losing Blane had been akin to him dying in the devastation stakes—she knew firsthand how rough it could be.

‘You looked for me?’

No acknowledgement of what she’d said about the divorce, just a hint of curiosity as he leaned forward and placed his arms on the table.

He had strong forearms, lean yet muscular, with a light sprinkling of dark hair, forearms she’d trailed her fingers over when she’d explored his body for the first time, forearms that had lifted her up and swung her around after they’d married, forearms that had cradled her close on their honeymoon night spent in a dingy motel on the outskirts of Echuca.

It had been all they could afford, but it hadn’t mattered. Not the annoying neon sign that flashed on some crazy cycle, not the sagging mattress, not the grungy brown carpet in their room. All of it had faded into oblivion when they’d fallen into each other’s arms for the first time as man and wife.

It was a lifetime ago, in her past, so why was she suddenly all too aware of the underlying buzz of electricity still flowing between them?

‘Yeah, I looked for you, for about a year. You know, to serve you divorce papers.’

‘Only a year, huh?’

Once again he ignored the D word hanging between them, and strangely enough it didn’t seem all that important anymore with his steady grey-eyed gaze fixed on her, her skin tingling as if he’d physically touched her.

She made a frantic grab at her plait before belatedly remembering she’d let her hair down—metaphorically only, she hoped!

‘I like your hair better this way.’

Before she could blink, he’d reached out and captured a strand of her hair, gently twirling it around his index finger, forming a loose curl before releasing it, his fingertips brushing her shoulder as he sat back, a wistful expression on his face.

Clamping down the urge to yank his hands across the table and shove them through her hair, she shrugged, trying to ignore her burning, yearning skin where he’d briefly touched her.

‘Having long hair in the hospitality industry is impractical. I have to wear it tied back all the time.’

‘As long as you get to let it down once in a while.’

Was he asking if she had a social life, if she’d dated?

Hmm…if she counted the catch-up coffee with Lars the Lech and the dinner from hell with Deon the Drag, yeah, she’d dated. Twice in six years, two times too many, for neither of those guys had been Blane, neither had come close to sparking her interest as the man sitting across from her did.

‘I’m a self-confessed workaholic. I want the café to be the best, and to do that I need to put in the hard yards.’

‘Work isn’t everything.’

Camryn couldn’t explain the sudden change in atmosphere. One minute he was laid-back and laughing at her, the next he’d tensed up, from his bunched shoulders to his folded arms.

She topped up her water glass from the funky red glass bottle in the middle of the table, making a mental note to look for something similar for the Niche.

‘It is for me.’

He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, and it was the first time she’d seen him look anything but relaxed all evening.

‘I guess I’m trying to find out if there’s anyone else in the picture.’

The smart thing to do would be to fob him off, maybe even tell a little white lie to cement their estrangement and obtain the divorce she should have got years ago.

Instead, she stalled for time, forking the last piece of cake into her mouth and sighing as the chocolate mousse melted on her tongue, releasing a citrus burst in tart contrast to the luscious sweetness.

‘Come on, Cam, it’s a simple question.’

‘There’s no one else.’

She cleared her throat, blaming her husky tone on a stray cake crumb rather than the sick thought that he’d probably dated—and extensively. ‘What about you?’

Not that it was any of her business. Not that it mattered. She was just curious…

He unfolded his arms to lean forward and place them on the table, way too close to hers, lowering his tone to match hers.

‘There’s been no one else for me, only you. It’s always been you,’ he murmured, sliding his hand to cover hers, his calloused palm rasping across her delicate skin and sending shivers shooting up her arm.

His heartrending statement hung in the air as waiters bustled around them, cake plates were whisked from kitchen to table, and the steady buzz of patrons filled the air along with the sound of muted jazz.

He leaned closer, his forearm brushing hers again, and she clenched her teeth to refrain from sighing with longing.

‘Look, you know I’m a stand-up guy, and I’m too old to play games, so I’ll give it to you straight. I want us to get to know each other again. Take our time. It can be dinner, a movie, another coffee, whatever. The ball’s in your court.’

She sat there, transfixed by the sincerity in his tone, by his guileless grey eyes, by the tiny spark of electricity arcing from his forearm to hers.

Was he for real?

Did he want to give them a second chance?

Or was this just one of those times where he was passing through Melbourne, found himself single, and thought he’d look up a former flame for old time’s sake?