One-Night Pregnancy. Lindsay Armstrong
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she murmured drowsily.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, until dawn filtered through the grimy shed windows and they heard a helicopter’s rotors beating overhead.
‘Bridget—’ Adam said, and stopped.
Here it comes, Bridget thought, the parting of the ways, the thing that had been on her mind ever since she’d woken in his arms and been flooded by the memory of their lovemaking.
She wore—they both wore—State Emergency Services orange coveralls. Hers were way too big for her—but far better to be hoisted into a helicopter in something that nearly smothered her rather than an old towel.
And they did have to be hoisted into the helicopter, because the ground was too soft and waterlogged for it to land. By contrast, however, it was a bright sunny day, the sky was a clear blue, and the drenching rain, howling winds and pyrotechnics of the night before were like a dream—of the nightmare variety.
They were still sitting in the helicopter. It had landed on a tarmac driveway, and they were waiting for an ambulance to transport Bridget to the Gold Coast Hospital for a check-up.
She’d strenuously objected to this, saying she was quite fine, but Adam had sided with the paramedic on the helicopter and she’d been effectively outvoted. She had been uplifted by the news that the family in the car that had been washed away after hers had also been rescued.
‘Bridget,’ Adam said for the third time, and put his hand over hers. ‘I’m not for you, and that’s—’
‘Not my fault but yours?’ she murmured huskily, in a parody of the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ explanation.
He grimaced. ‘Trite, but unfortunately true.’ He paused. ‘I’m lousy lover material, and I’d be terrible husband material.’
‘Lousy lover material?’ she whispered. ‘I have to beg to differ.’
He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. ‘You’re sweet, but it was just one of those things.’
Bridget considered. It had seemed to her, from the moment they’d woken to the sound of the rotors and both leapt out of bed, covering themselves with whatever they could find and racing out to flag down the helicopter, that they’d been tied to each other by an invisible string.
She reconsidered. As if they belonged to each other! But she’d certainly felt that, and could she have been so wrong?
She recalled the way he’d taken her back inside the shed and helped her into the voluminous coveralls, how they’d laughed a little together as she’d all but drowned in them. How he’d kissed her and told her it had to be an improvement on a horse rug.
Then they’d used a double harness to winch them up—he had seemed to know all about it, and also to know one of the crew—and she’d gone up in his arms.
He’d kissed her again when they were safely inside the helicopter, and she’d sat squashed up against him as it had risen and flown, squashed and in his arms, so her erratic heartbeats had normalised and she’d felt safe because they were his arms.
‘Will you ever get over the woman who left you for your brother?’
He looked down at her, and there was something like compassion in his eyes that hurt her very much.
‘I have got over her. It’s my brother—but it’s more than that. I’m far too old for you.’ He stilled her sudden movement. ‘In experience, in the kind of life I’ve lived, and in the far too many women I’ve loved. What you need is someone with no murky past, who can share an optimistic future with you.’
‘And if I don’t want—?’
‘Bridget,’ he cut in, and released her hand to wipe away the tears that sparkled on her lashes with his thumbs. ‘If there’s one thing you can take away with you, it’s this: you were gorgeous in bed, and don’t let any guy with an oversize ego tell you otherwise. You be selective, now, and make sure you give the men who are not good enough for you the flick.’ He brushed away another tear and picked up her hand as his lips quirked. ‘Incidentally, I’m one of those.’
‘But I loved being in bed with you,’ she whispered brokenly.
‘There’s a lot more to it than that.’ He turned his head as an ambulance drove up and parked beside the helicopter. ‘Your limo has arrived, Mrs Smith.’ He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles again. ‘So it’s time to say goodbye. Take this with you.’
He rummaged in a seat pocket until he came up with a pencil and piece of paper, upon which he wrote a telephone number.
‘If you need me, Bridget—’ his eyes were completely serious now ‘—in case of any unplanned…consequences, this number will always get a message to me.’
Bridget took the piece of paper, but she couldn’t see what was written on it. Her eyes were blurred with tears. Then it came to her that there were two ways she could do this. As a tearful wreck, or…
‘And if you need me,’ she said, dashing at her eyes as she raised her hand beneath his to kiss his knuckles, ‘you know where to find me.’
They stared into each other’s eyes until he said, very quietly, ‘Go, Bridget.’ His expression changed to harsh and controlled as a nerve flickered in his jaw, and he added, ‘Before you live to regret it.’
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