First Comes Baby.... Michelle Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ his bones with a clarity that stole his breath that Uncle Ben would never make up for the lack of a father in his child’s life.

      His child.

      He turned back to Stefan. ‘You’re going to have to find someone to replace me. I can’t lead Thursday’s safari.’ Three weeks in the heart of Africa? He shook his head. He didn’t have that kind of time to spare. He had to get home and make sure Meg was all right.

      He had to get home and make sure the baby was all right.

      CHAPTER THREE

      A MOTORBIKE TURNED in at the end of the street. Meg glanced up from weeding the garden and listened. That motorbike sounded just like Ben’s, though it couldn’t be. He wasn’t due back in the country for another seven weeks.

      She pressed her hands into the small of her back and stretched as well as she could while still on her knees. This house that her father had given her took a lot of maintenance—more than her little apartment ever had. She’d blocked out Saturday mornings for gardening, but something was going to have to give before the baby came. She just wouldn’t have time for the upkeep on this kind of garden then.

      She glanced down at her very small baby bump and a thrill shot through her. She rested a hand against it—her baby—and all felt right with the world.

      And then the motorbike stopped. Right outside her house.

      She leapt up and charged around to the front of the house, a different kind of grin building inside her. Ben? One glance at the rangy broad-shouldered frame confirmed it.

      Still straddling his bike, he pulled off his helmet and shook out his too-long blond-streaked hair. He stretched his neck first to the left and then to the right before catching sight of her. He stilled, and then the slow grin that hooked up one side of his face lit him up from the inside out and hit her with its impact.

      Good Lord. She stumbled. No wonder so many women had fallen for him over the years—he was gorgeous! She knew him so well that his physical appearance barely registered with her these days.

      Except…

      Except when his smile slipped and she read the uncertainty in his face. Her heart flooded with warmth. This was the first time he’d seen her since she’d become pregnant. Was he worried she wouldn’t keep her word? That she’d expect more from him than he was willing or able to give?

      She stifled a snort. As if!

      While she normally delighted in teasing him—and this was an opportunity almost too good to pass up—he had made this dream of hers possible. It was only fair to lay his fears to rest as soon as she could.

      With mock-seductive slowness she pulled off her gardening gloves one finger at a time and tossed them over her shoulder, and then she sashayed down the garden path and out the gate to where he still straddled his bike. She pulled her T-shirt tight across her belly and turned side-on so he could view it in all its glory.

      ‘Hello, Uncle Ben. I’d like you to meet my baby bump—affectionately known as the Munchkin.’

      She emphasised the words ‘Uncle Ben’ and ‘my’, so he’d know everything remained the same—that she hadn’t changed her mind and was now expecting more from him than he could give. He should have more faith in her. She knew him. Really knew him. But she forgave him his fears. Ben and family? That’d be the day.

      He stared at her, frozen. He didn’t say anything. She straightened and folded her arms. ‘What you’re supposed to say, Uncle Ben, is that you’re very pleased to meet said baby bump. And then you should enquire after my health.’

      His head jerked up at her words. ‘How are—?’ He blinked. His brows drew together until he was practically glaring at her. ‘Hell, Meg, you look great! As in really great.’

      ‘I feel great too.’ Pregnancy agreed with her. Ben wasn’t the only one to notice. She’d received a lot of compliments over the last couple of months. She stuck out a hip. ‘What? Are you saying I was a right hag before?’

      ‘Of course not, I—’

      ‘Ha! Got you.’

      But he didn’t laugh. She leaned forward to peer into his face, took in the two days’ worth of stubble and the dark circles under his eyes. Where on earth had he flown in from? ‘How long since you had any sleep?’ She shuddered at the thought of him riding on the freeway from Sydney on that bike of his. Ben took risks. He always had. But some of those risks were unnecessary.

      His eyes had lowered to her abdomen again.

      She tugged on his arm. ‘C’mon, Ben. Shower and then sleep.’

      ‘No.’

      He didn’t move. Beneath his leathers his arm flexed in rock-hardness. She let it go and stepped back. ‘But you look a wreck.’

      ‘I need to talk to you.’

      His eyes hadn’t lifted from her abdomen and she suddenly wanted to cover herself from his gaze. She brushed a hand across her eyes. Get a grip. This is Ben. The pregnancy hormones might have given her skin a lovely glow, but she was discovering they could make her emotionally weird at times too.

      ‘Then surely talking over a cup of coffee makes more sense than standing out here and giving the neighbours something to talk about.’

      Frankly, Meg didn’t care what any of the neighbours thought, and She doubted any of them, except perhaps for Elsie, gave two hoots about her and Ben. She just wanted him off that bike.

      ‘You look as if you could do with a hot breakfast,’ she added as a tempter. A glance at the sun told her it would be a late breakfast.

      Finally Ben lifted one leg over the bike and came to stand beside her. She slipped her arm through his and led him to wards the front door. She quickly assessed her schedule for the following week—there was nothing she couldn’t cancel. ‘How long are you home for this time, Uncle Ben?’ She kept her voice light because she could feel the tension in him.

      ‘No!’ The word growled out of him as he pulled out of her grasp.

      She blinked. What had she said wrong?

      ‘I can’t do this, Meg.’

      Couldn’t do what?

      He leaned down until his face was level with hers. The light in his eyes blazed out at her. ‘Not Uncle Ben, Meg, but Dad. I’m that baby’s father.’ He reached out and laid a hand across her stomach. ‘Its father. That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about, because father is the role I want to take in its life.’

      The heat from his hand burned like a brand. She shoved it away. Stepped back.

      He straightened. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s not what I agreed to. But—’

      ‘Its father?’ she hissed at him, her back rigid and her heart surging and crashing in her chest. The ground beneath her feet was buckling like dangerous surf. ‘Damn it, Ben, you collected some sperm in a cup. That doesn’t make you a father!’

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