A Family Worth Waiting For: The Midwife's Miracle Baby

‘Ready to surrender?’

She could hear the humour in his voice and knew his green eyes would be twinkling. ‘No. I’ve just had enough. I’m running out of vases.’

‘That’s not what I hear. The rest of the hospital has a vase shortage. In fact, you seem to be the only one with available vases. Maybe you could loan them some of yours.’

‘They go in the bin come Monday. Enough.’

‘You want me to stop sending flowers?’

‘Good. You’re catching on.’

‘Come and ask me. Face to face.’

‘What?’ He had to be joking!

‘I’ll be in my consulting room for another fifteen minutes.’

Claire gawped at the dead phone. He’d hung up! Why, of all the … So he wanted an audience, huh? She rose to her feet. She’d make him sorry he was so damned imperious!

Anger carried her to his office before she realised she’d just done exactly what he wanted. She stormed in without knocking and found him leaning against his desk, facing the door. Waiting for her.

‘Six minutes.’ He whistled as his gaze fell to the rapid rise and fall of her chest and the way the fabric of her uniform pulled across her breasts. ‘I see you took the stairs.’

‘It was faster,’ she snapped.

‘Before you start …’ he held up his hands to placate her ‘… I apologise.’ He pushed himself off the desk and walked slowly towards her. As he advanced a step she retreated a step. ‘I just wanted to see your face again and I figured … well, if you were steamed up enough …’

Claire bumped against the wall. Campbell halted also. An arm’s length separated them. His apology had taken the wind out of her sails.

‘I’d forgotten how beautiful you are, Claire. Staying away has been so hard but I thought, well, you know, absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder.’ He stepped closer.

‘Campbell.’ Desperation tinged her voice. ‘Stop this, please.’ She pressed her hands against his chest to prevent him from coming any closer.

‘You don’t want me to send you any more flowers?’

Claire nodded, not quite trusting her voice, which she felt sure would betray her trembling. With Campbell so close, her entire body was quivering. She’d forgotten how magnificent he was in the flesh. I can’t let this happen. I can’t.

‘I thought women loved flowers,’ he said quietly, staring at her mouth as his head inched closer.

‘I … I hate them.’ Her voice tripped over the lie.

‘Really?’ he whispered.

‘I do now,’ she whispered back, swallowing to moisten her suddenly parched throat. I can’t let this happen.

The room was silent. All that could be heard was the ticking of the wall clock and the thunder of two galloping heartbeats.

‘Kiss me. Kiss me and I’ll stop.’

She felt his warm breath on her face as he uttered the outrageous request. Only it didn’t seem so outrageous now. In fact, to Claire’s ears it seemed like a very sensible suggestion. His lips were so close, she was mesmerised. She couldn’t think of one reason why she shouldn’t. And she wanted to. Lordy, she wanted to.

He placed his arms against the wall on either side of her head. Her hands were being crushed by his body weight—a completely ineffective barrier—as he inched closer. And suddenly she could bear the suspense no longer. She closed the millimetres that separated their lips and surrendered to the decadence of the moment.

It had been a long time since she’d kissed a man. She expected Campbell to lead and dominate, and he didn’t disappoint. He devoured her mouth, plundering its softness, branding hers lips with his own. It wasn’t hard or savage, just thorough. It was like this kiss was his sales pitch and he was giving her all he had.

It went on and on, sucking her every breath from her body, shattering the memory of any kiss she’d ever had before this one. They were nothing compared to this. It was blinding and drugging and left her wanting more.

She clung to him, revelling in her sweet surrender. The lyrics of an old country song came to her mind. ‘I feel sorry for any one who isn’t me tonight.’ She’d reached nirvana.

He pulled back and she gasped in a ragged breath. They stilled and he rested his forehead against hers as their breathing settled.

‘Claire …?’ he murmured in a throaty whisper.

And it brought her crashing back to the real world. She straightened up and he dropped his arms, allowing her some space to move away. She crossed to the window, completely oblivious to the million-dollar view of Brisbane’s skyscrapers.

I can’t let this happen. I can’t. The frantic beating of her heart refused to settle and Claire knew it needed a prod.

‘So.’ She cleared her throat. Even to her own ears she sounded like a woman who’d just been kissed—breathy and husky. She turned to face him. ‘No more flowers, right?’

‘You used me,’ he accused, laughter in his voice.

Yeah, right. He looked like someone who’d been used and abused, completely against his will. More like the cat that had swallowed the bloody canary.

‘You practically sexually harassed me. You deserved it.’

‘Good point,’ he said, straightening his tie. ‘No more flowers. I promise.’

He looked so appealing, standing there all rumpled and obviously affected by their kiss. She had to get out of there before she threw him on his desk and he could accuse her of sexual harassment. It had been a long time.

‘As if that’s worth the paper it’s written on,’ she quipped, walking past him with her head held high. She didn’t look back, just walked straight out of his door and closed it firmly.

* * *

Claire spent the weekend in a flurry of activity. The entire house, inside and out, was cleaned. The garden was weeded. Her car was washed. Idle time was her enemy.

The minute she stopped doing something memories of Friday and the kiss would crowd in and then other thoughts and feelings that she couldn’t afford to nurture came along, too. She needed to work. She had to work! Anything to stop herself from thinking.

She mustn’t entertain fanciful thoughts. Just because he had kissed her like she’d never been kissed before, it was no reason to go and lose her head. There were too many reasons why it wouldn’t work.

She fell into bed each night exhausted, hoping for the kind of sleep that was deep and dreamless. But even in sleep he occupied space in her head and she woke each morning tired and cranky and confused. Damn him!

* * *

On Monday, a box of sinfully rich chocolate truffles, beautifully gift-wrapped, was waiting for her. Great. Her biggest weakness next to flowers and men with red hair. She groaned and opened the card.

NO FLOWERS. A PROMISE IS A PROMISE.

Campbell was again conspicuous by his absence as each day a box of chocolates arrived. She gave them away, too, but did allow herself the odd indulgence from each box. She wasn’t weakening, she was just being practical. A person had to eat.