Even as he said the words he questioned his wisdom. Doing something on her list was never going to be the deciding factor for her. But right now desperate times called for desperate measures. And he’d use whatever it took.
She looked a bit dazed, shocked.
‘Amy?’
Her voice had the slightest tremor. ‘It’s a lot to think about.’ She stood up and pushed the bedside table away, walking over to the window and looking out over Pelican Cove. Her hands were placed protectively over her stomach, as if she were cradling her baby inside.
Inside her brain was in turmoil. Why hadn’t she planned ahead? Why hadn’t she foreseen this? The safety of her baby was always going to be paramount, but what about the safety of her soul?
The last few days had brought a huge surge of emotions to the fore. Maybe they were pregnancy related? But right now every time she was in a room with Lincoln she couldn’t think of anything else.
The thought of running up a hotel bill made her blood run cold. Her maternity salary was comfortable enough to cover her rent and outgoings, but not unexpected outgoings like these.
Stay in his apartment? He must be out of his mind! She had visions in her head of two lions stalking around their prey. That’s what it would feel like. How could she possibly be relaxed around Lincoln when every second she would be waiting to see if he would touch her, look at her, take her in his arms and…
‘I don’t think it would work.’ The words were out before she had a chance to think about them.
‘Why?’ Lincoln looked confused. He walked towards her and put his arms on either side of her shoulders. His face seemed so open, so honest. With no concerns, no worries. He really didn’t know. He really didn’t realise what he did to her.
But, then, how could he, if she’d never told him?
‘I… I…’ Her throat was dry, her tongue sticking to the top of her mouth.
‘It’s the perfect solution—surely you can see that?’ Then he did it. He gave her that killer smile. The one that used to unnerve her from across the room and make her knees buckle. The smile that sent a thousand feather-like touches skittering across her skin. And something inside her heart lurched.
Hope. The feeling she’d felt when she’d seen him on television and had known she’d be able to find him and ask for help.
The sensations that had engulfed her when she’d first set eyes on him after six long years.
The heat and warmth that had swept through her body when he’d touched her, when he’d kissed her.
The look in his eyes on the beach when he’d told her that he’d searched for her and it had sent loose a thousand butterflies, beating their wings inside her chest.
Hope.
A sensation she only recognised now. The same sensation she’d steeled inside herself when she’d written the list.
He reached up, catching a curl of hair that had fallen in front of her eye, tucking it behind her ear. He was looking at her with those dark-rimmed eyes. She was mesmerised. And she wanted more.
Maybe this was the way to get it.
‘You’re right,’ she breathed. ‘It makes perfect sense. When do we leave?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
AMY looked out of the apartment window, across the rippling San Francisco bay to Alcatraz. What a view. It was strange how a piece of rock could seem so foreboding and enigmatic, rising up from the grey waves. Even from this distance she could see the ferry pulling in again, no doubt unloading its cargo of tourists all anxious to capture the moment on camera.
Everywhere she looked there were tourists. The iconic Powell-Hyde cable car turntable at Fisherman’s Wharf was practically under her nose, with a constant stream of people lining up to get their photo snapped next to it. She looked back over her shoulder, into the spacious wooden-floored apartment. This really was a prime piece of real estate and she shuddered to think how much it had cost.
Amy glanced at her watch for the third time in ten minutes. ‘Resting’ wasn’t easy for a girl who was used to being on her feet in a busy ward for twelve hours a day. Three long days she’d been looking out of this window into the wonderful world of bustling San Francisco beneath her. Currently just out of her reach.
Daily hospital monitoring and strict bed rest. It almost sounded like a prison sentence. The irony of the view of Alcatraz wasn’t lost on her.
Her blood pressure hadn’t improved, her urine still had protein in it, but thankfully her oedema was under control and she hadn’t developed any other symptoms. It hadn’t stopped her newest obstetrician, Cassidy Yates—a statuesque blonde who watched Lincoln out of the corner of her eye—from referring to the local protocols and administering some steroids to help develop the baby’s lungs in case of early delivery. For the past three days Amy had travelled with him into work and he’d dropped her at the day unit for monitoring and assessment.
Twenty-nine weeks and three days. Right now her extended abdomen felt like a ticking time bomb. Then there was being here. In Lincoln’s apartment, surrounded all day by little pieces of him.
The good thing was…he’d been the perfect gent. Welcoming, considerate and ever attentive. The frustrating thing was…he’d been the perfect gent. And it was driving her crazy.
Amy sighed and flopped down into the nearby red leather armchair, pushing until the seat tilted backwards and the leg rest sprang out. There was nothing to do—Lincoln had said he would take care of dinner, so all she could do right now was wait.
The trouble with waiting was that it left too much time to think. Too much time to look out at the busy life below and wonder when you could be part of it again. She felt a sharp kick under her ribs and drew a deep breath. She pulled up her smock top to reveal her baby bump.
She watched the squirms under her skin—if this were a movie, any minute now a twelve-armed alien would burst from her stomach. Baby Zachary had obviously decided to have a party in there, and he was certainly beginning to object to the reducing space. Her hands hovered just above her belly, wondering where the next punch would appear. It really was amazing to think that she would hold him in her arms soon. What would he look like? Would he have red hair and pale skin like her? Or the physical characteristics of his sperm donor father?
She could remember the details on the resume. Sperm Donor 867. Dark hair, green eyes (best to choose someone with the same eye colour you had), over six feet tall, college education. But did any of that r
eally matter? Would genetics really decide the sum of her baby? Was it all nature or was it nurture?
She lifted her hands to her head, gently massaging her temples. Her head was starting to throb slightly, nothing to worry about—not enough to search the cupboards for paracetamol, just enough to annoy her thought processes.
What would her son’s interests be? Her sperm donor had been a jock—no doubt about that. Every sport known to man had been on his list of interests. What did she know about football? But he’d also been academic, and had specialised in education.
So would her son be like his father or more like her? Reckless at times, occasionally unpredictable? In future years would she have to sit up at night, worrying about what time he would come in?
Zachary squirmed again under her skin, as if sensing her breath was currently caught in her chest. Why did she feel so panicked? She’d started this process six years ago—more than enough time to think about the end product. She’d spent the last two weeks worrying about premature birth and safe delivery. So why now was she panicking about hair colour and little-boy interests?
‘That’s some sight.’
Amy let out a shriek, pulling down her smock top and leaping up from the chair. Lincoln stood leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest, a smile of amusement on his face.
‘Lincoln! I didn’t hear you.’ She could feel the colour rushing into her face. ‘Where did you spring from?’
He crossed the room in a couple of steps, his hands resting lightly on the tops of her arms. ‘Where I always spring from—work. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘You didn’t… Well, you did, but I think that I… I mean…’
‘You’re babbling.’ His voice was calm, but there was a distinct twinkle in his eye that even she could notice in the dimming light.
She looked around her. When had it got so dark? ‘What time is it?’