Fatherhood Fever!

Matt could not find his tongue. She stood like a provocative witch, her head tilted to one side, hair flaming around it, one hand holding the strap of her bag over her shoulder, the other planted on a seductively jutting hip, legs apart in a challenging stance, her black-leathered body taunting him with its sexy self-confidence.

“I bet you’re just awesome when you strip,” she went on, her eyes sparking with cold blue lights. “What any woman would call a gorgeous hunk. Do you work out with weights in the gym?”

It was a payback for the way he’d stared at her, pure and simple. When her gaze dropped pointedly to his crotch, Matt found his tongue very promptly. “I’m here with my mother.”

It was a dumb thing to say, but at least it broke the focus of her attention on a highly volatile physical area. She looked up in startled bemusement. “A Mummy’s boy?” Laughter bubbled out of her throat.

It fizzed through Matt’s brain, exploding whatever common sense he had. “As maddening as my mother might be, I happen to care about her,” he bit out, his jaw clenching over how foolish she made him feel.

“Well, good for you.”

The sudden burst of warmth from her confused him further.

Sheer impishness shone from her broad grin and she had the temerity to wink confidentially at him. “I hope you’ve got the stamina to keep on caring.”

Then she was off, striding past him up the path to reception. Like an irresistible magnet she pulled his gaze after her. The brilliant copper cap bounced. Her jaunty walk kept changing the gleam on her leatherclad bottom, highlighting its cute cheekiness. Her legs seemed to spring with exciting vitality.

He yelped and dropped the cigarette. Damned thing had burnt his fingers. He bent to scoop up the smouldering butt and when he straightened, the glass doors to reception had swallowed up the tantalising torment that had invaded his space, turning him every which way.

He wondered what she’d be like in bed. He figured the sheets would be smoking with the heat she’d generate. He sure as hell wouldn’t be thinking of having a cigarette. Or needing one.

With a self-derisive little laugh, he strolled on into the garden and buried the evidence of his cheating, vowing once again to stop the habit. He dragged in several deep breaths of the pure, crystalline air of the southern tablelands. The health farm was only two hours from Sydney, but it could have been a world away. He should be appreciating the total lack of pollution here.

A macho man like you... Was she impressed? Attracted to him? He hadn’t been looking for a fling with any of the women guests, hadn’t felt drawn to any of them, either, but this recent arrival certainly had him ticking over. He wondered how long she’d be staying and if he could keep his mother’s eagle eye from noticing a change in his chemistry.

He glanced at the flamboyant, red Ducati. That was her baby. No way was the hell’s angel who rode it ready for motherhood. He should give her a miss. She was bound to be trouble. If he got involved with her, his mother would look dolefully at him and complain, “You’re just not trying, Matt.”

If he wanted fatherhood, and he did—he really did—picking up with the wrong woman was stupidly self-defeating. On the other hand, a spin around the block on a Ducati wouldn’t be wasting a lot of time. It might be time well spent. Excitingly spent.

A man only lived once.

There was no age limit on fatherhood.

It wasn’t good for his mother to think a grandchild would answer everything.

Besides, he was not—definitely not—a Mummy’s boy!

CHAPTER TWO

LENTILBURGERS!

Not to mention more rabbit food!

Matt’s stomach growled a protest as he surveyed the lunch menu. What he’d give for a big juicy steak and a plate of French fries! His mouth salivated at the thought.

“Hungry, dear?” his mother said brightly. The Reiki massage had somehow perked up her energy level.

He forced a smile. “Starving.” He piled four slices of freshly baked wholemeal bread onto his plate. At least that was filling.

“They do make such tasty salads here,” his mother rattled on, helping herself to an avocado mix and lots of other greens as she moved along the buffet table.

It was good for her, Matt told himself. She’d piled on weight from comfort eating and needed to get herself back on a decent diet. If she left here with more of an interest in healthy food, at least he had achieved something. But it was no consolation to his stomach. He forked some tomato and onion onto his plate, added as many slices of boiled egg as he thought he could get away with, found some beetroot, and followed his mother to the table they’d been occupying, her at the foot of it, him next to her.

“Oh! Just look at that girl!”

The words were hissed at him as he sat down.

He looked, knowing from the shock in his mother’s voice whom he’d see. He didn’t expect to be drawn into staring at her again. But his eyes seemed to get glued on her and couldn’t be wrenched away.

The black leather jacket had been removed. She wore a red sweater that clung like a second skin, showing off the superb slopes of two glorious breasts. Matt had never thought himself a breast man. Legs had always taken his fancy. He suddenly found himself converted. There was definitely a compelling attraction about perfectly rounded and fulsomely weighted breasts.

“I didn’t think you could wear red with red,” his mother murmured, her initial shock having turned to awed fascination.

“Mmmh...” he replied, leaving his response options open.

The vision of feminine plentitude moved past them to the buffet table, not so much as flicking a glance in his direction. Which was just as well, since being caught gawking at her again would have been galling. The cornflower blue eyes were quite capable of slicing him in two and shrivelling all activity below the belt. Though, come to think of it, his testosterone levels could probably do with a bit of shrivelling at the moment. Not since he was a teenager had he felt such a strong wave of lust.

“Well, she’s new,” his mother declared with relish, her eyes atwinkle with more lively interest than she’d shown in anything for quite some time.

“Mmmh...” Matt repeated, busily buttering his bread. The communal table was filling up with the regulars. It usually held ten, though a couple of guests had departed this morning. He didn’t want to be put on the spot with an open discussion of the new arrival. After all, he was the only male here and the focus of considerable speculation. He didn’t really care to reveal how taken by her he was. Not when it was still uncertain how she felt about him. Now if she attended the archery session this afternoon...

“Don’t you think she’s striking?” his mother pressed.

“Quite,” he agreed, stealthily withdrawing his personal salt cellar—a recent and desperate purchase from the grocery store in the nearby village—from his trouser pocket. Salt was not supplied at the health farm. He would suffer a lot for his mother, but doing without salt was taking sacrifice too far. He surreptitiously sprinkled it on his food while everyone else was still settling down to their meal.

“There’s a spare chair here, dear,” his mother called.

Matt couldn’t believe his ears. His ultra-respectable, conservative mother inviting the sexy as sin, red on red to sit next to her? Opposite him? In the hot seat left by Vida, the vamp, who had gone through five husbands and had flirted with the idea of taking Matt as her toy-boy, much to his mother’s amusement and his embarrassment?

He held his breath. She was coming, a whimsical little smile showing her surprise at the encouraging welcome extended by his mother. She cocked an eyebrow at Matt and he knew curiosity had drawn her. Mummy doing the honours for Mummy’s boy?

“Thank you,” she said, placing her plate on the table. “I was wondering where I should sit.”

“There’s no special place for anyone,” his mother informed. “I’m Cynthia Davis. This is my son, Matt. And you are?”

“Peta. Peta Kelly.”

Matt stood up to offer his hand in courtesy, only to realise he was still holding the salt cellar. She looked at it, looked at him, and rolled her eyes mockingly.

“Still at it, I see.”

“At what?” his mother asked.

“Cheating. Your son was outside smoking when I arrived. Now he’s sneaked in salt.”

“Salt? Salt? Did someone say salt?” A plaintive voice cried from the other end of the table. “I’d give my eyeteeth for some salt.”

Matt sighed and offered it up.