First Comes Baby.... Michelle Douglas

have expectations. He didn’t do expectations.

      ‘And this is your baby, Meg. The only thing I’d be doing is donating sperm, right?’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘I’d be Uncle Ben, nothing more?’

      ‘Nothing more.’

      He opened and closed his hands. Meg would be a brilliant mother and she deserved every opportunity of making that dream come true. She wasn’t asking for more than he could give.

      He stood. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll help out any way I can.’

      Meg leapt to her feet. Her heart pounded so hard and grew so big in her chest she thought she might take off into the air.

      When she didn’t, she leapt forward and threw her arms around all six-feet-three-inches of honed male muscle that was her dearest friend in the world. ‘Thank you, Ben! Thank you!’

      Dear, dear Ben.

      She pulled back when his heat slammed into her, immediately reminded of the vitality and utter life contained by all that honed muscle and hot flesh. A reminder that hit her afresh during each and every one of Ben’s brief visits.

      Her pulse gave a funny little skip and she hugged herself. A baby!

      Nevertheless, she made herself step back and swallow the excess of her excitement. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to take some time to think it over?’ She had no intention of railroading him into a decision as important as this. She wanted—needed—him to be comfortable and at peace with this decision.

      ‘He shook his head. ‘I know everything I need to. Plus I know you’ll be a great mum. And you know everything you need to about me. If you’re happy to be a single parent, then I’m happy to help you out.’

      She hugged herself again. She knew her grin must be stupidly broad, but she couldn’t help it. ‘You don’t know what this means to me.’

      ‘Yes, I do.’

      Yes, he probably did. His answering grin made her stomach soften, and the memory of their one illicit kiss stole through her—as it usually did when emotions ran high between the two of them. She bit back a sigh. she’d done her best to forget that kiss, but ten years had passed and still she remembered it.

      She stiffened. Not that she wanted to repeat it!

      Good Lord! If things had got out of control that night, as they’d almost threatened to, they’d—

      She suppressed a shudder. Well, for one thing they wouldn’t be having this conversation now. In fact she’d probably never have clapped eyes on Ben again.

      She swallowed her sudden nausea. ‘How’s the jet lag?’ She made her voice deliberately brisk.

      He folded his arms and hitched up his chin. It emphasised the shadow on his jaw. Emphasised the disreputable bad-boy languor—the cocky swing to his shoulders and the looselimbed ease of his hips. ‘I keep telling you, I don’t get jet lag. One day you’ll believe me.’

      He grinned the slow grin that had knocked more women than she could count off their feet.

      But not her.

      She shook her head. She had no idea how he managed to slip in and out of different time zones so easily. ‘I made a cheese and fruit platter, if you’re interested, and I know it’s only spring, and still cool, but as it’s nearly a full moon I thought we could sit out on the veranda and admire the view.’

      He shrugged with lazy ease. ‘Sounds good to me.’

      They moved to the padded chairs on the veranda. In the moonlight the arc of the bay glowed silver and the lights on the water winked and shimmered. Meg drew a breath of saltlaced air into her lungs. The night air cooled the overheated skin of her cheeks and neck, and eventually helped to slow the crazy racing of her pulse.

      But her heart remained large and swollen in her chest. A baby!

      ‘Elsie said your father’s been ill?’

      That brought her back to earth with a thump. She sliced off a piece of Camembert and nodded.

      He frowned. The moonlight was brighter than the lamponly light of the living room they’d just retired from, and she could see each and every one of his emotions clearly—primarily frustration and concern for her.

      ‘Elsie said he’d had a kidney infection.’

      Both she and Ben called his grandmother by her given name. Not Grandma, or Nanna, or even an honorary Aunt Elsie. It was what she preferred.

      Meg bit back a sigh. ‘It was awful.’ It was pointless being anything other than honest with Ben, even as she tried to shield him from the worst of her father and Elsie. ‘He became frail overnight. I moved back home to look after him for a bit.’ She’d given up her apartment in Nelson Bay, but not her job as director of the childcare centre she owned, even if her second-in-command had had to step in and take charge for a week. Moving back home had only ever been meant as a temporary measure.

      And it hadn’t proved a very successful one. It hadn’t drawn father and daughter closer. If anything her father had only retreated further. However, it had ensured he’d received three square meals a day and taken his medication.

      ‘How is he now?’

      ‘It took him a couple of months, but he’s fit as a fiddle again. He’s moved into a small apartment in Nelson Bay. He said he wanted to be closer to the amenities—the doctor, the shops, the bowling club.’

      Nelson Bay was ten minutes away and the main metropolitan centre of Port Stephens. Fingal Bay crouched at Port Stephens’ south-eastern edge—a small seaside community that was pretty and unspoilt. It was where she and Ben had grown up.

      She loved it.

      Ben didn’t.

      ‘Though I have a feeling that was just an excuse and he simply couldn’t stand being in the same house as his only daughter any longer.’

      Ben’s glass halted halfway to his mouth and he swore at whatever he saw in her face. ‘Hell, Meg, why do you have to take this stuff so much to heart?’

      After all this time. She heard his unspoken rider. She rubbed her chest and stared out at the bay and waited for the ache to recede.

      ‘Anyway—’ his frown grew ferocious ‘—I bet he just didn’t want you sacrificing your life to look after him.’

      She laughed. Dear Ben. ‘You’re sure about that, are you?’ Ever since Meg’s mother had died when she was eight years old her father had…What? Gone missing in action? Given up? Forgotten he had a daughter? Oh, he’d been there physically. He’d continued to work hard and rake in the money. But he’d shut himself off emotionally—even from her, his only child.

      When she glanced back at Ben she found him staring out at the bay, lips tight and eyes narrowed to slits. She had a feeling he wasn’t taking in the view at all. The ache in her chest didn’t go away. ‘I don’t get them, you know.’

      ‘Me neither.’ He didn’t turn. ‘The difference between you and me, Meg, is that I’ve given up trying to work them out. I’ve given up caring.’

      She believed the first statement, but not the second. Not for a moment.

      He swung to glare at her. ‘I think it’s time you stopped trying to understand them and caring so much about it all too.’

      If only it were that easy. She shrugged and changed the topic. ‘How was it today, with Elsie?’

      His lip curled. ‘The usual garrulous barrel of laughs.’

      She winced. When she and Ben had been ten, his mother had dumped him with his grandmother. She’d never returned. She’d never phoned. Not once. Elsie, who had never exactly been lively, had become even less