Читать книгу Fatherhood Fever! - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

IF ONLY you’d give me a grandchild I’d have something to live for.

His mother’s words tapped a deep well of frustration. Matt Davis was so irritated by them, he headed for the open air and lit a cigarette, defiantly dragging in a soothing shot of nicotine and belligerently crushing the guilt of breaking his resolution to give up the hazardous habit of smoking. Right at this moment, a death wish didn’t seem so bad.

He strolled towards the garden, brooding over his failure to prompt his mother into doing something positive for herself. Ever since his father’s death, she’d been wallowing in a pit of depression, letting herself go, unable to summon the energy or interest to pursue an active life. Bringing her to this health farm had seemed like a good idea but it wasn’t working the miracle he’d hoped for. She was enjoying the pampering treatments he’d organised—trying out a Reiki massage right now—but it wasn’t raising any significant will to forge a new path for herself.

It was absurd to hang the rest of her life on his having children. There were plenty of other ways to fill the void of widowhood. She was only fifty-five, for God’s sake! And she could be so attractive when she was firing on all cylinders. His father wouldn’t have wanted her to mourn him forever. If she’d get out more, do things. A grandchild, of course, didn’t require her to do anything. It was more like a gift from heaven falling into her lap.

Except it wasn’t quite so easy to provide!

Matt paused at the stone steps into the garden and took another angry drag on the smouldering cigarette. He watched the smoke drift into the cool, crisp air and swirl away on the wind. Gone, he thought, like the time of his mother’s generation when women were content to be wives and mothers. Those he’d been closely involved with regarded having children as an unwelcome curtailment of their freedom, not to be entered into until they were ready.

His mouth twisted in savage irony. He was ready. At thirty-three, he was more than ready to become a father. He’d done the freewheeling bachelor bit and was finding the life increasingly empty. His ambition on the work-front was more than satisfied. The merchandising business he’d started and developed was now a solid money-spinner, ensuring financial security for the foreseeable future. He wasn’t exactly lonely, but the appeal of having his own family to share everything with was strong.

He was sure he’d be a good dad, like his own father. The thought brought a flood of memories and a sudden bolt of grief. His mother wasn’t the only one who missed the old man. Matt heaved a sigh to relieve the ache of loss and sternly told himself life moved on. It had to. There was no going back to those happy times with his father.

Unfortunately, his mother’s simplistic belief that he could get himself married and start a family any time he liked was pure fantasy land in this day and age. Finding a woman willing to cooperate in such an old-fashioned life plan was akin to finding a needle in a haystack.

Everything else—careers, travel, living life to the full—came ahead of having a baby. Motherhood was too big a commitment of time and self to take on until a woman was ready. Both Janelle and Skye had told him so. To achieve the desirable end of fatherhood, it seemed he’d either have to find a woman in her early twenties who didn’t know any better, or one in her late thirties whose biological clock was ticking. Neither idea was overly appealing.

He wanted...

The roar of a motorbike accelerating up the driveway blasted his train of thought. His head swivelled to the loud beast breaking the peace and quiet of the health farm. It was a shiny red, middleweight sportster. Matt automatically concentrated on identifying its make as it zoomed into the turning circle for arrivals—a Ducati 600 SS—very stylish Italian job.

It halted within a few metres of where he stood, still paused at the entrance to the garden. Only when the rider started to dismount did he realise it was a woman. His mind instantly clicked into appreciation mode. The black leathers moulded a fantastic female body, perfectly proportioned, deliciously curved and dynamically packed. A kick of excitement stirred hormones he’d thought had become jaded. This was one very sexy woman.

He watched with lively anticipation as she removed her helmet, then couldn’t stop himself from staring outright at the stunning revelation of her face and hair. His riveted gaze did manage to register the pretty, rather gamine appeal of a delicately pointed chin and widely spaced cornflower blue eyes, separated by a finely flared nose and a lush mouth, but the hair totally transfixed him. Like a beacon it was, in blazing technicolour.

He’d never seen such vivid hair in his life. The gleaming copper cap was interrupted by two swathes of iridescent orange and gold, falling in precise bands around her head from a side parting. They glowed like two halos framing her face, set off by the copper bangs following the curve of her cheeks and the copper crown behind them.

The effect stimulated all sorts of wild ideas. This woman was not just sexy. She was dynamite—flaunting her daring, dabbling with danger, defying conventional standards, dumping any care of how others saw her, determined on dancing to her own tune, wherever it led her. She threw out a challenge that stirred more than Matt’s hormones. It fired his blood and sizzled every sensible thought out of his brain.

He wanted...

“Okay to leave the bike here while I book in at reception?”

Her voice cut into the gathering maelstrom of desire, jolting him back to the real world. The bright blue eyes were regarding him derisively and Matt had the uncomfortable impression she knew precisely the nature of her impact on him and was darkly amused by it. Unaccustomed to being caught staring at anyone, he blathered his reply.

“Sure. It’s safely out of the way of other incoming vehicles.”

His voice sounded as though it was scraped out of a gravel pit. Very uncool.

Her mouth curled into a mocking smile. “Cheating, I see.”

“What?” His mind had lost a gear somewhere.

“No smoking at this health farm,” she tossed at him before turning to unstrap a bag from the bike.

He looked down at the offending cigarette, still alight between his fingers. He barely stopped the impulse to throw it away. Littering the ground with a burning butt would really be reprehensible. “I’m not hurting anyone, smoking outside,” he excused.

“Guys always justify their cheating.”

“And women don’t?” he retorted, niggled by her cynical comment.

“I can’t see any women out here polluting the pure crystalline air we’re paying to breathe.” She hefted the released bag onto her back and swung to eye him up and down consideringly. “But maybe you’re staff, not paying at all. Aerobics instructor? Masseur?”

“Guest,” he answered shortly, finding himself standing straighter under the boldly open appraisal of his length and breadth and the amount of muscle outlined by his tracksuit.

“For a macho man like you,” she drawled, “this health farm must be a happy hunting ground. A bunch of women on the loose, needing to be fixed up.”

Matt could not find his tongue. She stood like a provocative witch, her head tilted to one side, hair flaming around it, one hand holding the strap of her bag over her shoulder, the other planted on a seductively jutting hip, legs apart in a challenging stance, her black-leathered body taunting him with its sexy self-confidence.

“I bet you’re just awesome when you strip,” she went on, her eyes sparking with cold blue lights. “What any woman would call a gorgeous hunk. Do you work out with weights in the gym?”

It was a payback for the way he’d stared at her, pure and simple. When her gaze dropped pointedly to his crotch, Matt found his tongue very promptly. “I’m here with my mother.”

It was a dumb thing to say, but at least it broke the focus of her attention on a highly volatile physical area. She looked up in startled bemusement. “A Mummy’s boy?” Laughter bubbled out of her throat.

It fizzed through Matt’s brain, exploding whatever common sense he had. “As maddening as my mother might be, I happen to care about her,” he bit out, his jaw clenching over how foolish she made him feel.

“Well, good for you.”

The sudden burst of warmth from her confused him further.

Sheer impishness shone from her broad grin and she had the temerity to wink confidentially at him. “I hope you’ve got the stamina to keep on caring.”

Then she was off, striding past him up the path to reception. Like an irresistible magnet she pulled his gaze after her. The brilliant copper cap bounced. Her jaunty walk kept changing the gleam on her leatherclad bottom, highlighting its cute cheekiness. Her legs seemed to spring with exciting vitality.

He yelped and dropped the cigarette. Damned thing had burnt his fingers. He bent to scoop up the smouldering butt and when he straightened, the glass doors to reception had swallowed up the tantalising torment that had invaded his space, turning him every which way.

He wondered what she’d be like in bed. He figured the sheets would be smoking with the heat she’d generate. He sure as hell wouldn’t be thinking of having a cigarette. Or needing one.

With a self-derisive little laugh, he strolled on into the garden and buried the evidence of his cheating, vowing once again to stop the habit. He dragged in several deep breaths of the pure, crystalline air of the southern tablelands. The health farm was only two hours from Sydney, but it could have been a world away. He should be appreciating the total lack of pollution here.

A macho man like you... Was she impressed? Attracted to him? He hadn’t been looking for a fling with any of the women guests, hadn’t felt drawn to any of them, either, but this recent arrival certainly had him ticking over. He wondered how long she’d be staying and if he could keep his mother’s eagle eye from noticing a change in his chemistry.

He glanced at the flamboyant, red Ducati. That was her baby. No way was the hell’s angel who rode it ready for motherhood. He should give her a miss. She was bound to be trouble. If he got involved with her, his mother would look dolefully at him and complain, “You’re just not trying, Matt.”

If he wanted fatherhood, and he did—he really did—picking up with the wrong woman was stupidly self-defeating. On the other hand, a spin around the block on a Ducati wouldn’t be wasting a lot of time. It might be time well spent. Excitingly spent.

A man only lived once.

There was no age limit on fatherhood.

It wasn’t good for his mother to think a grandchild would answer everything.

Besides, he was not—definitely not—a Mummy’s boy!