Partners by Contract (21 page)
Phoebe’s delighted musical laugh rang out. Con was blushing, yes, definitely blushing. She was enchanted by his declarations—what woman wouldn’t be? And his obvious
embarrassment after the event only served to push home the intensity of his impassioned outpourings.
‘I never knew you could be so eloquent,’ she gasped wonderingly. Still a little stunned, she managed a weakish smile. ‘I hope you realise I’ll not be satisfied with a simple “That’s a nice frock” in future...’
‘Shut up, woman,’ he growled, sweeping her up in masterful fashion into his arms.
‘Now,
there’s
the Connor I know and love,’ she murmured dryly, pressing several kisses to his neck, his chin—in fact, just about anywhere she could reach as he settled her securely in his arms.
‘Your knee...!’
‘Is perfectly all right.’ Kicking open doors, he gave a satisfied grunt as he located what he’d been looking for.
His eyes sought hers. They were blazing as he laid her down on her bed. ‘Don’t you ever forget that I’m the one you love.’ The mattress shifted as he knelt down beside her.
Forget? It would be a lot easier to forget her own name!
‘I can safely promise you that that scenario is highly unlikely. How did you know this was my bedroom, Con?’
‘It smells of you,’ he informed her rawly.
Phoebe gave a sigh and a sinuous little wriggle as he pressed her down across the bed. ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she confessed, gazing with dreamy content up into his face.
Connor grinned. ‘Let me convince you.’
He did—several times—and by the morning Phoebe was totally convinced!
* * *
Connor and Phoebe were sipping champagne in the hotel orangerie—or, in Phoebe’s case, orange juice—before being summoned for the lavish wedding supper. Considering
the scale of the events so far, it seemed safe bet to assume that the meal would be equally sumptuous.
‘What are you smiling at?’ Connor asked his wife.
Phoebe had been smiling because she was with the most gorgeous man here. She was smiling because she was incredibly happy. She was in a smiling mood.
‘I’m happy,’ she told him simply.
‘It took me ages to get this hat to stay on,’ she complained breathlessly when he’d finished kissing her.
Connor grinned unapologetically down at her. ‘Do you wish we’d done it like this—all the trimmings?’ he asked. His expansive gesture took in the crowds of stylishly dressed guests, the elaborate floral decorations that covered just about every surface and the stringed quartet playing tasteful background music. Women, he knew, cared about such things.
‘It’s a lovely wedding,’ Phoebe admitted. Sally was an only child, and her well-heeled parents had been determined to give her a day that she—and most of the county—would always remember. They’d succeeded. She raised her glass to her lips and looked up at him over the rim. ‘But I much preferred ours,’ she promised him huskily. A simple ceremony in the local church followed by a meal prepared by Will’s gourmet wife.
Connor had been wearing the suit he wore today, a classy loosely tailored Italian number in charcoal. She had carried a simple posy of spring flowers and worn a cream silk slip dress—her mother’s wedding gift, which had arrived with a covering note complaining of Phoebe’s thoughtlessness in arranging her wedding to clash with the start of Paris fashion week.
‘You didn’t mind that it was quiet, that Magda didn’t come?’ Connor could have said a lot on the subject of
Phoebe’s only surviving parent, but he didn’t because he knew it would upset her.
Phoebe squeezed his arm, appreciating his reticence. ‘All the people that mattered were there. I was marrying you, not a cast of thousands. This is very nice, but I like the intimate, personal touch.’
‘Yeah,’ Connor drawled, ‘I’d noticed that.’ He threw back his head and laughed when she blushed deliciously.
‘Dance with me,’ he said, pulling her towards him.
‘People aren’t dancing.’ Despite her protests, she allowed herself to be drawn into his arms.
He dismissed her response with a shrug. ‘So...?’
‘I’m beginning to think you’ve got a bit of the exhibitionist in you, Connor Carlyle,’ she grumbled good-naturedly as she allowed herself to be drawn towards a clear space.
Before they got an opportunity to display their dancing prowess, a middle-aged woman in lime green waylaid them.
‘Dr Carlyle, thank goodness!’
Connor and Phoebe exchanged glances. In theory they were off duty, but it seldom worked out that way. The job had a way of intruding on private moments, but they both accepted that side of it.
‘It’s Angus. He’s acting a little...strangely,’ the agitated lady continued shakily.
‘Strangely in what way, Moira?’
‘He’s taking his clothes off,’ she confessed in an anguished wail. ‘Just like last time. Do you think in the excitement he might have forgotten and taken his insulin twice again? I know you said low blood sugar can make people behave oddly, but it’s so embarrassing. He sounds like he’s drunk.’
‘It certainly sounds like a hypoglycaemic attack.’
Connor turned to his wife. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, duty calls.’ He kissed the tip of Phoebe’s nose. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. The last time Angus went hypo he scandalised the post office by removing his tie and braces, which for Angus is pretty flamboyant behaviour.’
Phoebe watched her tall husband stroll off to deal with the crisis in his own inimitable style. She wondered if he’d be just as calm when she eventually mentioned she was in labour. She’d known for sure since just about the time when the happy young couple had exchanged their vows. Earlier that morning she’d dismissed the niggly pains as Braxton-Hicks’ contractions, which she’d had regularly during the last couple of months.
She knew full well that if she’d mentioned it straight off, Connor would have insisted on dragging her off to the hospital. Anyone would think she was the only person to ever be pregnant from the way he acted. Of course, it was lovely to be cherished, but he did tend to go overboard, and Phoebe didn’t want to be sitting around on a labour ward until absolutely necessary. The trouble was, Con knew what could happen but, as she’d told him, it wasn’t going to.
Phoebe had actually favoured a home delivery. The idea of giving birth with her own things around her without any of the regimentation of the hospital had really appealed. Poor Connor had looked so aghast when she’d suggested it that she’d let the idea drop immediately. And, of course, when they’d discovered that there wasn’t one but two little Carlyles, she’d accepted that it was sensible to be delivered in the hospital.
She’d never forget the expression on Con’s face when he’d realised he was seeing two babies on the scan. Shock, pride, wonder—it had encompassed all three and more, a lot more.
With a secret smile she touched her bump. Very soon she would be meeting the pair of rascals who had turned her into a blimp. She found herself a seat just before the next contraction hit. It was stronger than the last and it seemed a bit closer. For the first time she felt a stab of fear mingled with the excited anticipation. When the next one came there was no maybe about it. Perhaps it might be an idea to go and find Con...
Though she was stopped with the usual selection of jovial comments on her size, she eventually spotted Con. Her heart lurched at the sight of his tall, powerful figure and, as if by magic, her fear faded to be replaced by a sense of calm.
He’ll always be there when I need him, she thought, her love for him exploding like a sunburst in her chest.
‘Is anything wrong?’
Phoebe took his hand. ‘No, everything’s right,’ she told him mistily. ‘Con...there’s something I have to tell you. Perhaps you should sit down...’
* * * * *
ISBN-13: 9781460378069
PARTNERS BY CONTRACT
Copyright © 2015 by Kim Lawrence
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