One-Amazing-Night Baby!. Heidi Rice
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her there, everything else would fall into place.
With that in mind, he constructed a suitable reply. ‘I meant we should go to bed at a decent hour so you can get your rest. Perhaps we could get up early for a dip?’ She’d seemed interested in the heated pool yesterday, when he’d shown her the grounds.
‘How early is early?’ she wanted to know, still on her toes. ‘I’m on a timetable all week. Sunday’s my day to sleep in.’
Ah, at last. Something they could agree on. ‘How’s eight sound?’
Her face pinched. ‘I’m thinking more late morning.’
She unclasped the heavy beads hanging around her neck and they fell into her cleavage. His loincloth flexed, but he set his jaw. He’d decided slow and steady would win this race.
‘I usually stay up late to watch the mysteries on cable Saturday night,’ she explained, rescuing the beads from between her breasts—as if that action wouldn’t aggravate a man in his condition.
Then he realised what she’d said. Mysteries were by no means his favourite. There were great alternatives. ‘I prefer Union.’
‘Civil war movies?’
He blinked at her. How did that connect? ‘I mean football.’
Her expression didn’t budge. ‘You like football?’
‘Most guys like football.’
‘I’m not a guy.’
Obvious. So was her unimpressed state. Easily fixed. ‘When you want to watch Agatha and I want to watch the Wallabies, there are plenty of televisions to go around. Two upstairs, three downstairs.’
She arched a brow. ‘You watch a lot of TV?’
If he said he did, she’d only say she didn’t. Watching television was the last thing on his mind.
He snatched a look at his wristwatch. ‘Look at the time.’
She straightened. ‘Leave the costume on the handle,’ she said, closing the door, ‘and I’ll see you downstairs in five. I hate being late.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘YOU’RE a late person, aren’t you?’
Sophie frowned at the analogue clock on the dashboard as Cooper navigated the western suburb streets. Eight-forty-five. Penny’s invitation had said seven.
She watched lamppost shadows chase over Cooper’s classically chiselled profile as he replied. ‘Only in so far as time is concerned.’
Sophie refrained from exhaling heavily. Late people drove her insane.
‘Don’t you have to meet with clients and be in court at specific times?’ she asked. ‘Surely you can’t be late for appointments?’
‘I compensate.’
‘How? You make excuses? Buy gifts?’
He flicked her a got-it-covered look. ‘I set my electronic reminder to go off thirty minutes before time. I also set my watch seven minutes early.’
Uh-huh.
‘You don’t get mixed up?’
He turned the wheel. ‘Never.’
She thought about pointing out how crazy it all sounded, but if she had a right to be herself, she guessed he did too. This trial wasn’t supposed to be about who was right or wrong, but rather the grey area in between—what worked as individuals as well as a couple. Not that she had any real faith that two people as different as they were could find enough space ‘in between’ to make a go of marriage.
Given their current highly sensitive states, wearing next to no clothes—particularly animal print—wouldn’t work. Although feeling Cooper’s loincloth pressed up against her hadn’t been unpleasant. In fact, his fiery hands on her arms, his hot breath on her neck, had felt deliriously good.
So good she’d almost surrendered.
But if they became intimately involved again, she wouldn’t be able to see the forest for the trees. He’d charm her into marriage and then, for better or worse, she’d be stuck. Divorce was an out, she supposed, but how would she fare in court? Cooper was a respected expert in divorce and custody issues. No. Best not to go there.
If they married, Cooper would still carry on with his life his way. No one and nothing could stop him. But she wanted to make her own choices too. Could she ever hope to do that married to a man like Cooper? She had intelligence and options. She didn’t need to get married—and certainly not for convenience’s sake.
A single-parent household wasn’t the ideal, but their baby would be better off in that situation than with two parents who couldn’t get along. Sophie needed only to remember her own childhood to be certain of that. How often had she wished her parents would admit that everyone’s lives would benefit, not suffer, if they lived apart? They were still gritting their teeth, doing the ‘right thing’—as if Auntie Louise and her father’s friends at the bowling club wouldn’t rather they separate and be happy individuals.
And if on Monday morning Mr Myers, the principal, suggested that wedding bells might save the school some embarrassment, then, as she’d told Cooper, she wouldn’t waste her energies fighting but would rather find another job. Plenty of schools would happily hire a motivated and caring teacher who happened to believe she had a right to be a single mother too. Thank heaven most schools weren’t stuck in the Dark Ages.
They found a parking space within walking distance from Penny’s single-storey brick house. Cooper’s thumb grazed a button on the steering wheel and the CD noise was shut off. Sophie eased out a breath. That particular blues collection was so not her favourite.
From the console, Cooper claimed the defining piece of his costume. He left the car and a moment later swung open her passenger side door. Before her stood Erik, super-sexy Phantom of the Opera.
After realigning his simple white mask, which covered only half his face, he swirled and flicked his long black cape. His Transylvanian accent was impressive. ‘How do I look?’
She grinned. She loved this lighter side of his personality.
She accepted his leather-gloved hand and eased out into the cool night air. ‘Wrong horror movie. You’re doing vampire central.’
He glossed a hand over his slicked-back hair. ‘I thought at a pinch Mr Hyde …’
Cooper was no angel, but Sophie didn’t want to think about him being that brutish.
She shook her head. ‘Sorry. That voice is not Phantom, not Hyde. Definitely Dracula.’
Taken by surprise, she squealed when he tipped her back forty-five degrees. His nose rested one side of hers. ‘That could fit in nicely with my new sucking preference.’
His fresh-mint breath and the rumble in his chest almost undid her, but she wouldn’t let him know her bones had already begun to dissolve and she’d like nothing better than to feel his teeth dance over her skin.
Light-headed, she managed to push out a rebuke. ‘Put the fangs away, Drac-boy.’
With a flourish, he swept her back onto her feet. ‘You’re no fun tonight, Christine. That costume is misleading.’
She smoothed the nineteenth-century replica peignoir which covered her corset and white stockings. Her hairstyle hadn’t changed from Jane’s—long, curly, loose.
He looped her arm through his and, bathed in the golden glow of the full moon hanging in the Southern Cross sky, meandered up the sidewalk.
He checked his watch. ‘A couple of hours should wrap this up.’
She started. ‘We haven’t even said hello yet!’
Jaw