Walk on the Wild Side (8 page)

He lanced her with the brilliant sky-blue stare. ‘Yes, I do.'

‘Not because of me.' She made herself look past him again, but it was pointless—she could feel the magnetism anyway.

‘No, I'm sick of hotels. Don't worry.' He bent; his words came as a whisper tipped with a suggestion of sin. ‘You won't even notice I'm here.'

As if that were possible. He was six feet of raw, rippled man. And, oh, yes, there was that bit of her that liked the idea of him being so close. Masochistic. That was what she was. She pushed past him and raced up the stairs, unlocking her own little flat and locking it behind her again. She
sank onto her sofa, her head in her hands—trying to stop the pounding.

This was all just happening too fast. In less than twenty-four hours her life had been tipped upside down—as if it were a brown paper bag and Jack was the one shaking it to be sure everything had tumbled out and landed all jumbled.

The voices out in the stairwell lingered for a while; she tried to listen, tried not to listen. Then she heard the big door shut and silence returned.

Finally, she could relax. She stretched out on the soft cushions, hoping the churning chaos in her head would slow down enough for her to have a snooze. She was shattered and couldn't be bothered finding anything to eat, too wobbly to talk to anyone—certainly not her mum—and too tired to even cry. She closed her eyes and tried to let it all go, willing the blackness to come swallow her.

The knock on her door chased it away as adrenaline surged. It could be only one person. Only one other person now had a key to get into the building.

She opened the door a fraction, hiding her body behind the heavy wood. He had a way-too-sheepish smile on.

‘The oven in my flat isn't working and the power isn't on in the flats downstairs. Do you mind if I use yours?'

‘You want to use my oven?'

‘I missed lunch.' He lifted the grocery bag in his hand. ‘I'm keen for an early dinner.'

‘You're going to cook?'

‘Yeah.'

She was too tired to argue, just opened the door wide and shuffled back to flop on the sofa. He shut the door and gave her a keen look. She closed her eyes.

‘You haven't had any coffee, have you?' he said.

None all day. She had the headache to prove it. She
didn't think caffeine was all that good for the baby. But the first-day withdrawal? It was as if she'd just come down with narcolepsy. ‘I just need a rest for a minute.'

He could do what he liked in the kitchen. For a while she listened to the sounds as he did. For a while she tried not to fixate. Impossible. And the dreams were nice—why block them? Why shouldn't she let her mind think on that beautiful body and that beautiful smile, just for a few minutes?

‘Kelsi.'

She opened her eyes—stared straight into Jack's. His bronzed, charming face hovered inches from hers—just like in her dreams.

‘I have enough to share if you're interested,' he said, all warm, easy encouragement.

If she was interested? Oh, she was so interested—what was he offering, exactly? She gazed at him—the slightly unruly hair that hung over his forehead, the angular jaw that had faint, late afternoon stubble, the creases at the corners of his eyes as he smiled. But then the smile faded.

‘Kelsi.' Firmer that time, almost brusque.

She blinked. Slowly the fog in her mind cleared and the rest of her senses switched on. Her mouth watered. ‘Something smells good.' She inhaled deep and sat up. ‘Something smells really good.'

‘Come and see.'

She shook the swimming sensation from her head and followed him to the dining table where the cutlery was set and two plates already in position.

She stared at their contents.

A beautifully cooked prime cut of steak. New potatoes on the side, and in the centre of the table, a bowl of fresh salad with all those extra yummy bits like toasted pine nuts and sliced avocado.

‘It's nothing fancy,' he said, sitting down.

It was a lot more fancy than the packet of instant pasta she usually went for. ‘You didn't have to do this.'

‘I don't like to starve and making enough for you is the least I can do given I just made a mess of your kitchen.'

She glanced through the doorway and he laughed.

‘Already tidied it. Figured you wouldn't let me back if I didn't.'

She sat down next to him, tried to steer herself back in the right direction—the independent one. ‘But you'll get the oven in your own flat fixed, right?'

‘Mmm.' His forking some food in muffled his answer.

She didn't bother with talking either after she took her first bite. This was too good to leave to waste. She'd had no idea she was so hungry. She'd had no idea Jack could cook like this.

‘Lots of good stuff here.' He finally broke the silence, nodding towards their three-quarter-empty plates. ‘But you should see a doctor. You need to be taking some vitamins. Folic acid and stuff.'

‘I didn't know you were a walking baby and birth encyclopaedia.' She took a sip of the glass of orange juice, trying to cool her rising temper.

‘I did some research. This is the only child I'll ever have, I thought I'd better get clued up.'

‘
I'm
the one having this child, Jack.'

‘But we've already established that I'll be there for it.' He grinned, refusing to let her have the last word. ‘Starting now.'

She gripped her knife a bit tighter. ‘Well, you don't need to worry. I went to the doctor this morning. I have the vitamins and all the information I need.'

‘Who's the doctor? A specialist, right?'

Kelsi looked at him, surprised by the insistence in his
tone. ‘Just my normal doctor. I'll arrange a midwife in a few weeks.'

‘And a specialist. You should have a specialist.'

A midwife wasn't a specialist? What did he want—a whole team of ob-gyns and technicians? Kelsi swallowed hard on the last bit of steak that had decided to wedge in the back of her throat. She wasn't going to start a fight—not tonight. Not until she had the sleep she so desperately needed. ‘I'll make arrangements.'

‘You don't think you need to ease back on your workload?'

‘No.' The urge to argue was harder to suppress now. ‘I'm pregnant, Jack. Not sick.'

He sliced his steak with vicious jabs of his knife.

‘You don't have to do this with the house.' OK, she couldn't not pick a fight now.

‘Yes, I do. You need a home and you like it here. But it's not like you could have bought it yourself.'

No, but in a few years she could have bought a little place somewhere.

‘You're never going to have to worry about money, Kelsi, please understand that.'

She put her cutlery down—suddenly feeling as if her stomach was over-full.

‘You can trust me.' He practically ground the words out. ‘You know what? I trust you. I trust you to take care of yourself and our baby.'

‘I have no choice but to do that.'

‘I know. And I have no choice but to try to help you as best I can. I will ensure you and the baby are secure.'

But she didn't want to be reliant on him. She didn't want to become too dependant on him only for that support to be whipped away—and it would be. It always was.

‘I'm sorry if accepting my help dents your pride.' He didn't sound sorry at all.

Besides, it wasn't her pride getting the battering. It was that thing thumping in her chest. She had to protect it better and knowing more about him might help—like more about his incompatible lifestyle. ‘How come you don't have your own apartment to live in?'

Jack stabbed the last bit of his steak. ‘I'm never in one place for that long.'

He didn't taste the meat as he forked it in. He just wanted to eat and get out of there. Doing the domestic thing wasn't helping him any. Being this near to her strung his nerves tighter across the wires of want—and he was so close to giving in to it. But he'd known she wouldn't be up to cooking anything—she looked even paler than usual. Tired. Beautiful.

Pregnant.

His guts twisted as he made himself keep that little fact up-front and centre. But it had been so hard not to wake her with a kiss, even harder not to kiss her when she'd blinked, all soft and sleepy—and he'd thought he'd seen heat behind those pink lenses. So he was mad with her, with himself, with this mess.

He'd thought sorting out the house might help. But so far it wasn't because the proximity to her made those weeks of fevered dreams in Canada seem like a saunter on warm sand in summer. To be with her now and not
with
her was nothing but torture. ‘I stay in hotels wherever I am.' Hell, he should be in one now. In an ice-cold shower.

‘What about the lodge?'

‘Karearea?'

She nodded.

So she had done some research on him. What did she think she knew? ‘That's a hotel, too.' He shrugged. ‘I don't
tend to stay there much and when I do I'm just in a guest room.'

‘But it's your home, right?'

He shifted on his chair. He didn't think of it like that. Home wasn't a concept he really got. The most comfortable he felt was when he was on the move—on a snowboard, a skateboard, whatever. ‘I have a manager to run it. A manager to run the ski field. I'm there a lot in the season. But it's…you know it's just a business.'

He'd been moving from the moment he'd been born, travelling with his dad while he organized all those expeditions for everyone else. The thought of stopping any one place for too long gave him hives. He needed freedom. But he also needed fulfillment. That was some of the drive in his sport—physical achievement filled the sense of emptiness that sometimes swept over him. It gave him focus. But it was another kind of physical satisfaction he wanted now.

‘The lodge was my father's plan,' he explained, trying to keep his thoughts in check and not shove the plates to the floor and tumble her onto the table. ‘He died before it was finished. So I finished it and got someone to run it. It was an old club field and the club couldn't afford the upkeep any more. It was too remote and they didn't have the resources to put in something that could make it pay. But the mountain is beautiful. The old lift gets you to the top and there's no easy way down.' He managed to grin as he thought of the challenge of those slopes. ‘Just a lot of killer options. All advanced or expert level.'

‘It's your playground.'

‘Sure.' And it was. How he wished he could be there now—fully fit and able to burn some of this frustration off. Anything to tire him out and stop him wanting her so
much. ‘We have some jumps and boxes and stuff. We put in a half pipe each season.'

‘And now it pays.'

‘With the lodge it does,' he agreed. ‘We're not competing with the big commercial ski fields. We don't want thousands on the snow every day. The pleasure is being the first to shred it after a storm. That's what our clients are paying for.'

The exclusive, high-end of the market who could helicopter in and out and afford the exorbitant rates of the super-luxe lodge. He liked limiting the numbers of people up there—it was too beautiful to be overrun. ‘A lot of the internationals like to come and train there because it's private,' he added. ‘It's not all about who can afford it. It's about having a place where you've got the space and opportunity to push the limits.'

The international athletes like him. Kelsi nodded, trying to get her head around his oh-so-exclusive world. So he dropped in during the season and then followed the best snow to the other side of the world when summer came here? What a life—chasing your passion like that. Jealousy prickled. So few people had that kind of freedom. She certainly didn't.

But she had a great life, right? She liked the security of having her things around her—beautiful, interesting things and a calm, happy, peaceful life…

But that little twist was already there—worming its way in deeper. Had she missed out on excitement? She'd done nothing but study hard and aim for a good job. Playing it safe all the way. Delaying any plans for travel until she'd established her career. As her mother had encouraged.

It was the right thing to do—and Kelsi had always wanted to do the right thing for her mother. She couldn't compete for her father's attention with her looks, but her
academic success had secured her mother's. Kelsi had never wanted to risk losing that approval by sliding off the rails. So she'd never taken a risk at all.

Only now she'd gone off track completely—by accident. And it was too late for any of Jack's globetrotting kind of adventure. In a few months, life was going to be nothing but nappies.

She turned to see Jack putting the dishes into the mini-dishwasher. Wiping down the bench and scooping up a bag of rubbish to get rid of—the picture of masculine domesticity. Except he was doing it with a kind of vicious efficiency—as if he couldn't wait to get out of there. Her limbs ached as she watched him—tall, lean, horribly handsome. Out of her league handsome. If she hadn't run him over, their paths would never have crossed. Now he'd made sure she'd eaten, he didn't want to stay any longer. It was all uneasy concern—making sure she was OK because he felt obligated.

He was just making the friend effort—thinking it was going to make this mess easier. But he wasn't going to try for anything more between them either. No looks, no touches, no kisses. She was stupid to be so disappointed. It wasn't as if it were a surprise. She wasn't anything like those women who hung out on the slopes. She wasn't beautiful or bubbly or super athletic as they were—she didn't tick even one of those boxes, let alone all three.

Men in general didn't find her pretty, so a sex god like him most definitely wouldn't. The afternoon they'd shared had just been a time-filler for him. And that kiss last night? Tactics. Pure and simple. He hadn't liked her trying to shut him out. Thank goodness she'd pushed him away and saved herself the humiliation of having him know how desperate she was for him.