Their Doorstep Baby

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 floor.

But then he paused.

For a tantalising, breathless minute, he delayed touching her while he deliberately took his time, delighting in a slow visual appreciation of her loveliness.

Her hair shimmered like a softly glowing candle against the midnight-blue silk of the bedspread. Her chocolate-brown eyes were dark with longing, her soft mouth was slightly parted to reveal a glimpse of white teeth. An impatient pulse beat in the delicate hollow at the base of her pale throat.

‘Do I still look OK in the evenings?’ she asked, huskily. His breath caught with a sharp in-drawn hiss as his gaze rested on the pretty, feminine lushness of her pink-tipped breasts and the smooth, pale skin of her slim waist, then, finally, her softly rounded hips and thighs, her long, slender legs.

‘You know you’re quite something,’ he said, his voice sounding as low and choked as hers. ‘In the mornings you look very OK. In the afternoons you look exceptionally OK, but in the evenings you look so OK I can’t think straight.’

‘So…’ Her eyes flashed a cheeky challenge. ‘Stop thinking.’

Her gaze slid down his body, returning his appraising look with one of her own. ‘You look much more than OK,’ she announced with a proprietorial grin. ‘You look sensational.’ Her arms reached out to him. ‘And, my dear man, you’re all mine.’

Supporting his weight with his hands on either side of her, he lowered his head to kiss her. They reached towards each other and their mouths met. Their lips and tongues merged and the kiss felt hauntingly familiar—lingering and loving—like a mixture of all their yesterdays.

‘You’re so right, my girl,’ he whispered. ‘I’m all yours. Only yours.’

‘That’s so good to know.’

He kissed her again and this kiss quickly turned feverish—deep and blazing—as full of alluring promise as tomorrow.

And at last, as his hands, trembling with desire, laid claim to her feminine bounty, he caressed her, loving her with the bold assurance of a man who understood completely all the intimate ways his woman longed to be touched.

From beneath half-shut lids, he saw Claire’s cheeks grow more flushed and he heard the soft moan of her excitement. He felt her hips lift and arch and his stomach took off in a high, curving dive.

‘Oh, Adam,’ she whispered. ‘Love me. I need you so badly.’

And faced with that sweet command, Adam let any shadowy doubts roll away.

CHAPTER TWO

‘I’VE lit a candle to St Anthony.’ Claire’s face shone as she joined Adam at the little sidewalk café.

They had spent three weeks in Europe now, first attending a series of conferences and seminars in various centres and then exploring northern Italy. Now they were spending half a day in Padua before catching a train across to Florence.

Adam had been wandering through the grounds of Padua’s famous university while Claire visited yet another church.

‘Any particular reason you chose St Anthony?’ he queried as a waiter served them coffee and pizza.

‘I found a brochure that says many infertile couples pin their hopes on him. They come to his church here in Padua especially.’ She reached forward and gripped Adam by the arm. ‘It claims that St Anthony has performed many amazing miracles. Maybe you should have come with me.’

Adam suppressed an urge to comment and took a deep draft of scalding coffee instead. He feared their holiday wasn’t working out quite as well as he’d hoped. Sure, Claire was enjoying the sights, she was bright and lively company.

But she’s not letting go!

On this trip she was meant to be following their doctor’s advice—relaxing completely—forgetting about the urgent need to prove her fertility.

The doctor had been quite firm. ‘You’ll stand a better chance if you can take things more calmly,’ he’d told them. ‘Some people can try too hard for a baby. Sometimes an intense yearning for a positive result can have the opposite effect.’

But Claire seemed to be more focused on her infertility than ever. If she wasn’t lighting candles in churches, she was buying expensive gifts for her sister-in-law Maria, or her children.

She’d spent hours selecting toys or clothes she would have loved to buy for her own child, if she’d had one.

As far as he could tell, she hadn’t bought anything for herself. In Venice, she’d found an exquisite glass angel and he’d thought she was going to indulge herself.

‘Isn’t this the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?’ she cried and her eyes glowed with joy.

Picturing it on the mantelpiece in Nardoo’s homestead, he agreed.

But as Claire carried it back to their hotel, she said, ‘I’m going to give this angel to Maria. I know she’d love it. And when we stop in Siena, I want to buy her a panettone. I’m sure she’d love an authentic Italian Christmas cake.’

What bothered him most about Claire’s preoccupation with Maria and her children was that he knew what lay behind it. Any day now, their sister-in-law was due to give birth to her fifth baby. Five kids!

It seemed she and Jim hadn’t yet figured out how those little ankle-biters started.

Claire tried to pretend that she wasn’t jealous of Maria—that she was happy for the younger woman. But Adam was quite sure that, beneath the cheery façade, she was growing more depressed and miserable.

And there was too damn little he could do about it.

The train journey to Florence took them through the beautiful hills of Tuscany. As the countryside rushed past them in a late autumn blur of red and gold flashes, Claire relaxed with her head on Adam’s broad shoulder and admired the spectacle through the train’s window.

But her heart set up a fretful pumping when the mobile phone in his coat pocket suddenly beeped. She swung upright, and her fingers dug into her palms as she watched him retrieve the phone. She studied his face carefully while he listened to his caller.

It could be simply a business call, but she fancied she could hear Jim’s voice. Her brother always felt he had to shout when he dialled long distance.

After a long period of listening, Adam said, ‘That’s great. Congratulations, mate. Thanks for letting us know and give our love to Maria.’