Michelle Douglas - The Secretary's Secret

‘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.

‘Tel me the first word that comes to your mind when I say “fishing”?’

She wanted Alex to relax this evening. She wanted him to have fun. And then she wanted to talk.

‘Rocks,’ he returned.

She had an immediate image of his legs dangling over her rock on the breakwater earlier. Strong thighs and—

‘Mountains,’ she returned.

‘Himalayas.’

Good, no sexy images accompanied that word.

She turned the fish. And in the same spirit… ‘Yaks.’

‘Yaks?’

Laughter burst out of him and Kit refused to question the way her shoulders lightened. ‘Yeah, you know, big wool y animals with horns.’ At least she thought they had horns.

‘I know what a yak is.’ His grin when it came was sudden and blinding. ‘But in four steps we’ve jumped from fishing to yaks?’

Kit had to grin back. She physical y couldn’t help it. Besides, grinning wasn’t against the rules. ‘I’m trying to keep baby brain at bay. Caro has warned me that as soon as the baby is born, my brain wil turn to mush. I thought word association games and turn to mush. I thought word association games and the daily crossword might help counter its onset.’

‘Right, smart move. Okay, here’s one—picnic.’

‘Ants.’

They both promptly stared down at the ground.

‘No ants,’ Kit final y said. ‘C’mon, let’s get this picnic on the road. The fish is nearly done.’

Ten minutes later they were settled in the chairs, plates balanced on knees, eating fish, potatoes, barbecued corncobs drenched in butter and salad.

‘Heck, Kit, for someone who won’t cook you’ve done a damn fine job.’

Kit licked butter from her fingers. ‘I have, haven’t I?’ But when she realized Alex fol owed the way her tongue caught the trickle of butter from the back of her hand, saw the way his eyes darkened, her stomach clenched. She grabbed a serviette and wiped her fingers instead. She left the rest of her corn untouched on her plate. Alex wrenched his gaze back to his plate.

The memory of their kiss burned between them.

That kiss, what did it mean? Alex hadn’t planned on fatherhood, but it had found him anyway. He hadn’t planned on any kind of romantic relationship either, but…

She refused to finish that thought.

She shifted on her chair. Could she blame pregnancy hormones for the way her heart crashed about in her chest whenever she locked eyes with Alex?

Her lips twisted as she speared a slice of cucumber. Not a chance. That was due to hormones she’d had long before she’d ever fal en pregnant.