Read Online A Natural Father by Sarah Mayberry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sarah Mayberry
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performing.
He shook his head, acutely self-conscious. He didn’t know what to do with his fingers, whether to relax them into her body or keep his hand stiff. He could smell her perfume and feel the swell of her breast pressing against his forearm.
“Relax your hand more,” she instructed, frowning in concentration. He let his hand soften and she slid it over her belly, pressing it against herself with both hands.
Still he could feel nothing. She bit her lip.
“Maybe he’s tired,” she said.
Beneath his palm, he felt a faint surge, the smallest of disturbances beneath her skin.
He laughed and she grinned at him.
“Tell me you felt that?”
“I felt it.”
They smiled at each other like idiots, his hand curved against her belly. He knew the exact moment the wonder of the moment wore off and she became self-aware again. He pulled his hand free at the same time that she released her grip on him. They both sat back in their chairs, an awkwardness between them that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.
“I should go,” he said. “You’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Yours is earlier,” she said.
They both stood.
“About the business…something will come up,” he said.
She shrugged. “Or it won’t. I’ll muddle through, I’m sure.”
Her hand found her stomach, holding it protectively. He followed her to the door.
“Thanks for the tiramisu,” she said with a small smile. “And for bringing my Web site stuff back.”
“Like I said, it was on the way home. And I would have eaten all the tiramisu on my own if I’d had the chance. You saved me from myself.”
He patted his stomach and she laughed, as he’d known she would. He hovered on the doorstep, unwilling to leave her just yet.
“What does it feel like?” he asked suddenly. “When the baby moves inside you?”
Her expression grew distant, and she cocked her head to one side. He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her cheek to see if her skin really was as soft and smooth as it appeared.
“The books say it’s like butterflies fluttering,” she said after a moment. “Some women say it’s like gas.”
“Butterflies or gas. Right.”
She smiled. “The closest thing I can come up with is that it’s like when a goldfish brushes up against your hand. Only on the inside, if that makes sense.”
She was so beautiful, standing there with her uncertain eyes and her smiling mouth and her rounded stomach. He wanted to kiss her. He took a step backward.
“Good night, Lucy Basso,” he said.
“Good night, Dom.”
He told himself he was being smart and fair as he walked down the darkened driveway to the street. She was pregnant. He had no business chasing her.
And yet he felt like he was letting yet another opportunity slip through his fingers.
He flexed his hand as he remembered the flutter of movement he’d felt beneath his palm. A smile curved his mouth as he started his car. She’d been so delighted, so amazed. He was stupidly happy that he’d been there to share the moment with her.
He sobered as he registered where his thoughts were going. This wasn’t his baby. Lucy wasn’t his wife or partner. He wouldn’t be sharing any more moments of discovery with her—or with any other woman, for that matter.
There was a message from his father on his answering machine when he arrived home, asking him to call back. His father sounded sleepy when he answered the phone.
“You are late. Where have you been?”
Dom raised his eyebrows at his father’s nosiness. “Out. What’s up?”
“Out where? Out with girl?”
The joys of working with his family—they felt they owned his life.
“Pa.”
He heard his father sigh.
“I need you to make run to Lilydale tomorrow to collect more zucchini from Giametti’s. We short and I promise dozen boxes to Vue De Monde,” his father explained.
Dom rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. What his father was suggesting would mean
He shook his head, acutely self-conscious. He didn’t know what to do with his fingers, whether to relax them into her body or keep his hand stiff. He could smell her perfume and feel the swell of her breast pressing against his forearm.
“Relax your hand more,” she instructed, frowning in concentration. He let his hand soften and she slid it over her belly, pressing it against herself with both hands.
Still he could feel nothing. She bit her lip.
“Maybe he’s tired,” she said.
Beneath his palm, he felt a faint surge, the smallest of disturbances beneath her skin.
He laughed and she grinned at him.
“Tell me you felt that?”
“I felt it.”
They smiled at each other like idiots, his hand curved against her belly. He knew the exact moment the wonder of the moment wore off and she became self-aware again. He pulled his hand free at the same time that she released her grip on him. They both sat back in their chairs, an awkwardness between them that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.
“I should go,” he said. “You’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
“Yours is earlier,” she said.
They both stood.
“About the business…something will come up,” he said.
She shrugged. “Or it won’t. I’ll muddle through, I’m sure.”
Her hand found her stomach, holding it protectively. He followed her to the door.
“Thanks for the tiramisu,” she said with a small smile. “And for bringing my Web site stuff back.”
“Like I said, it was on the way home. And I would have eaten all the tiramisu on my own if I’d had the chance. You saved me from myself.”
He patted his stomach and she laughed, as he’d known she would. He hovered on the doorstep, unwilling to leave her just yet.
“What does it feel like?” he asked suddenly. “When the baby moves inside you?”
Her expression grew distant, and she cocked her head to one side. He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her cheek to see if her skin really was as soft and smooth as it appeared.
“The books say it’s like butterflies fluttering,” she said after a moment. “Some women say it’s like gas.”
“Butterflies or gas. Right.”
She smiled. “The closest thing I can come up with is that it’s like when a goldfish brushes up against your hand. Only on the inside, if that makes sense.”
She was so beautiful, standing there with her uncertain eyes and her smiling mouth and her rounded stomach. He wanted to kiss her. He took a step backward.
“Good night, Lucy Basso,” he said.
“Good night, Dom.”
He told himself he was being smart and fair as he walked down the darkened driveway to the street. She was pregnant. He had no business chasing her.
And yet he felt like he was letting yet another opportunity slip through his fingers.
He flexed his hand as he remembered the flutter of movement he’d felt beneath his palm. A smile curved his mouth as he started his car. She’d been so delighted, so amazed. He was stupidly happy that he’d been there to share the moment with her.
He sobered as he registered where his thoughts were going. This wasn’t his baby. Lucy wasn’t his wife or partner. He wouldn’t be sharing any more moments of discovery with her—or with any other woman, for that matter.
There was a message from his father on his answering machine when he arrived home, asking him to call back. His father sounded sleepy when he answered the phone.
“You are late. Where have you been?”
Dom raised his eyebrows at his father’s nosiness. “Out. What’s up?”
“Out where? Out with girl?”
The joys of working with his family—they felt they owned his life.
“Pa.”
He heard his father sigh.
“I need you to make run to Lilydale tomorrow to collect more zucchini from Giametti’s. We short and I promise dozen boxes to Vue De Monde,” his father explained.
Dom rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. What his father was suggesting would mean
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