One Month to Become a Mum. Louisa George
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Jessie twisted and peered up at him. The tight corkscrew hair had softened and tendrils framed her face, giving an almost angelic impression. Apart from an odd milky smudge on her shoulder and a large stain on her knee. And the far from angelic stare.
The pulse at her slender throat beat a rapid tattoo and it took a mammoth effort not to place his hand on it, count the beats, touch her skin. But he managed it.
An eyebrow rose as she spoke. ‘Um. What? Sorry?’
‘Ah, nothing. Forget it.’
‘Forgotten already.’ She turned her back to the cupboard and fumbled in her pocket. Then quickly walked away. Was it his imagination, or were her cheeks red?
He watched Jessie’s quickened pace down the corridor. Her delicate way-too-grown-up blouse pulled across a taut ridge of shoulder muscle, and her clenched fists, the jerky movement of her hand to her pocket all sounded alarm bells in his head.
She didn’t look flustered, she looked hunted. He’d seen that look on a woman’s face before—when he’d discovered Chloe’s one-way plane ticket out of North Beach. Her get-out-of-jail-free card, she’d called it. Free? He’d unwittingly footed the bill when she’d borrowed his credit card.
Still, hunted was not at all how he expected a locum to act. Something in her manner didn’t add up. ‘Did you find what you were looking for, Jess?’
She slowed, but didn’t stop. Her hand curled next to her trouser pocket. ‘It’s Jessie. Or Jessica. No one calls me Jess. I don’t like it. I’m. Fine.’
‘You sure?’
Swivelling on her heel, she pierced him with dark blue eyes, the flush of her cheeks now a rash down her neck. A frown etched deep across her forehead. ‘Luke, I’m busy.’
He glanced at her slim fingers as they stole into her pocket. She was hiding something. His pulse jittered.
Keep calm. It may just be nothing. ‘You’ve just seen Kyle Phillips, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Everything okay? Didn’t need anything for him?’
‘No.’ She threw him a tight smile and tapped her watch. ‘Got to go. Don’t want to upset the time police.’
As she turned she stumbled against the wall. ‘Stupid heels.’
A packet fell from her pocket to the floor as she edged down the corridor.
‘Hey, you dropped something.’
‘Oh.’ It was more a sigh than a word. She bent to the floor at the same time as he did.
His hand covered the packet.
Her hand covered his and her heat infused his skin. His gaze shot to her face. Wide blue eyes stared up at him. Her teeth bit into her bottom lip.
She shook her head, a tiny movement that shouted, Don’t ask.
He didn’t. He couldn’t. Words lost their way from his brain to his mouth.
God, she was lovely. An ache stole into his stomach. His heart pounded. His lips dried.
Whatever the heck she’d been doing, whatever she’d been hiding, he didn’t care.
Suddenly he wanted to feel the bow of her lips against his, press against her curves, let her body tell him the answers to all those questions zinging around his head.
What? Kiss her? Here? In full view of his staff?
Since when did lust place before trust?
Lust. For God’s sake, where did this sudden weakness come from? Women like Jessie were poison, and he sure as hell wasn’t tempted to have a shot.
Plus, he was in the middle of the double-booked clinic from hell, with no time to analyse this self-destructive reaction to a locum. He just needed to gain some self-control.
‘I’ve got it.’ He snatched his hand from under hers, dragging his gaze away from those captivating eyes, and unfurled the packet from his fist. ‘There you are. Oh, a pregnancy test. Is that all?’
Even the tops of her ears were red as she grabbed the packet and straightened her blouse down over her hips. ‘Thanks.’
‘All this fuss over nothing.’ He blew out a long breath. He had totally misread the situation. Letting memories of Chloe get in the way of a decent working relationship. ‘Maggie usually sorts the tests out, I’ll give her a shout. Tell the patient to wait in the nurses’ area.’
‘It’s…. No. I can handle it.’ Her eyes flicked towards the bathroom. ‘I’ll do it myself.’
Luke’s stomach plummeted a thousand feet.
Fool.
Three-year-old Kyle Phillips certainly didn’t need a pregnancy test. Jessie’s next patient was Frank Carrington, so unless the IVF schedule had been extended to eighty-year-old kumara farmers, the pregnancy test must be hers.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’
Head cocked to one side, her mouth slanted then curved into an O shape. She waved the packet in the air.
‘You thought this was for me?’
Her eyes darkened as she, almost subconsciously, it seemed, ran a hand across her belly. He’d seen her do that a few times—in the car, when she’d first seen Lucy and again now. Unusual. Some kind of nervous reflexive reaction. Like nail biting or toe tapping.
A bitter-sweet laugh erupted from her lips as she walked back into her consulting room. ‘I don’t think so, Luke. Now, I really do have to get on.’
‘Of course.’ He stared at the space she’d left and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, shaken by his visceral reaction to her. Boy, oh, boy, he’d need therapy by the time this woman had finished her three-week stint.
Once he’d have tried to work her out, enjoyed the thrill of the chase, just for the hell of it. But things had got complicated and he’d been badly burnt.
Jessie’s private life was none of his business, and it would stay exactly like that until she left.
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