Their Doorstep Baby. Barbara Hannay

this month…this time…

      ‘Are you OK?’ Adam asked.

      She nodded, not trusting herself to look his way when she knew that, despite her hopeful thoughts, her eyes were already filming with the threat of annoying tears. Think about something else, woman! Anything else! Don’t spoil things now!

      Reaching into the pocket in the seat in front of her, she pulled out the murder mystery she’d bought at the airport bookshop in Sydney. The story was rather good and it was just getting to the thrilling climax. With a little luck it would divert her mind away from that dreaded subject.

      She’d used her boarding pass as a bookmark and now she opened at chapter ten and, taking another deep sip of champagne, began to read.

      Adam stood on the elegant balcony of their hotel suite and stared thoughtfully at the dignified old city stretched before him. Rome at night was like a prima donna commanding centre stage.

      There couldn’t be a place on earth more different from the wide, open plains and grey-blue-green bush of his home in western Queensland. Here there was so much man-made grandeur. So much power had been won and lost within this city’s ancient walls.

      He stretched his arms above his head and rolled his big shoulders, trying to ease the lingering tension in his muscles after the long trip.

      His athletic build was testimony to the hard life he lived in the Australian outback. He was used to the physical demands of running thousands of head of cattle on ten thousand square kilometres of wilderness. Sitting for hours cooped up on a plane left him feeling restless.

      From behind him came the sounds of splashing. Claire was in the luxurious en suite bathroom, relishing a long, soothing soak in scented bath oils.

      He smiled and thought about joining her. But as he stepped back through the French doors into their bedroom, slap bang on top of that pleasant thought came an unwelcome surge of anxiety. Was Claire pinning too much hope on this holiday? He had a horrible suspicion that her whole focus on this trip away would be to produce a baby.

      If it didn’t happen…?

      He drew a huge breath, holding it for long seconds and letting it go noisily. The doctor had warned them not to expect too much. There was every chance this holiday wouldn’t produce the result Claire longed for and he was finding it harder and harder to console her when the baby blues struck.

      He groaned. Damn it, he should be able to comfort his wife.

      He loved Claire.

      How could he not love her? She was lovely to look at and even lovelier to hold.

      And the things he’d learned about her since their marriage had proved that she was his perfect life partner. Her delight in passionate lovemaking was an ongoing miracle, but, even more miraculously, she shared his intense interest in their property, Nardoo.

      Most importantly, she was his best mate. She was fun!

      After eight years, he knew and cherished every quirky detail of her personality and he’d always felt their relationship was rock solid in spite of their intense disappointment at not being able to have a baby of their own.

      But just lately he’d felt a niggle of fear that perhaps Claire didn’t love him quite as completely as he loved her. He tried to tell himself he was wrong. How could he doubt her feelings after all these years?

      He knew she loved him. She showed it in so many ways.

      But her need for a baby was becoming desperate.

      Heaven knew, he’d wanted a baby, too. In the bleak months that had followed his parents’ death in a light plane crash, the possibility that he and Claire would produce future generations of Townsends to inherit Nardoo had provided a measure of consolation.

      But when the likelihood of babies had grown increasingly slim, he’d come to terms with that disappointment. He refused to give up hope, but he also knew that as long as he had Claire, he could still be happy.

      She didn’t seem to feel that way. Lately, her longing was bordering on obsession, as if the idea of having a baby was the single most important thing in her life.

      And more frequently these days, it left Adam feeling on the outside.

      There was a click behind him and the bathroom door slid open. Claire, wrapped in a huge cherry-red bath towel, came slowly towards him across the thick cream carpet.

      Her loose curls were caught on top of her head by a chunky plastic clip. Her face, cleaned of all make-up, looked fresh and astonishingly beautiful.

      With gentle fingers, she reached up and touched his cheek. ‘You look a bit down in the mouth. Are you OK?’

      ‘Sure,’ he said, turning to kiss the inner curve of her hand. ‘Just tired.’

      ‘Long flights are the pits, aren’t they?’ She kept her hand there, cupping his face as she traced her thumb slowly along his jaw and he saw her mouth quirk into a secretive, sexy little smile.

      ‘It’s too bad you’re tired,’ she said softly as she trailed her hand down from his jaw to the inside of his open-necked shirt.

      Her deep brown eyes were lit by a purposeful light. They glimmered, seductive and teasing. The message was unmistakable and Adam’s thoughts scrambled instantly.

      Desire pulsed and surged through him. ‘Did I mention the word tired?’ he asked with a slow grin. ‘Of course, I’m not tired at all, but I’ll take a shower.’

      ‘You can shower later.’

      Laughing, loving her, Adam reached forward, but with a playful laugh of her own she suddenly slipped daintily out of his reach and raised a hand to halt him.

      ‘Whoa, there!’ she teased, smiling.

      She raised her other hand, undid the clasp that secured the knot of curls and slowly shook her soft blonde hair free. Then, just as slowly, she tossed the clip in the air. It bounced behind her onto the carpet as she propped both her hands on her hips and arched her back so that her breasts thrust cheekily forward.

      Adam’s insides took a tumble-turn as the loose knot holding her towel slipped undone and it slid past her hips to the floor.

      ‘Ah—that feels better,’ she murmured.

      His grin collapsed. With a breathless growl he closed the gap between them, and this time Claire offered no resistance when he hauled her close.

      Hungrily, his hands found the lush curves of her naked bottom and he pulled her hard against the clamouring need of his arousal. ‘This feels a whole lot better,’ he assured her.

      Claire’s fingers worked nimbly to undo the buttons of his shirt. ‘We’ll feel even better when you get rid of these.’

      Oh, yes! ‘My wife is a shameless hussy,’ he murmured against her neck. She smelled so good—of something exotic—maybe sandalwood and flowers.

      ‘You’re not complaining, are you?’

      ‘Not a word of complaint, sweetheart.’ Not one single word!

      His body throbbed with an almost painful urgency as he walked her backwards towards the enormous bed. When they reached it, their gazes meshed and Claire gave a little cry of excited surprise as he pushed her gently, so that she fell to the mattress with a light bounce.

      With the briefest shrug of his shoulders, the shirt she’d unbuttoned dropped to the floor and he smiled down at her as she lay on the bed, her skin still glowing from the bath. After eight years, he would never grow tired of looking at this woman.

      Flaring heat mounted even more insistently in his loins as he undid his belt buckle.

      And watched her.

      Watched her watching him…while he unsnapped the fastener on his jeans. Her eyes smouldered with a familiar, heated promise as his jeans and boxer shorts slid to the