Amy’s face relaxed as the wonderful smell of freshly cooked fish wafted towards her. Her smile lit up her face. ‘Johnny, how can a girl come to Fisherman’s Wharf and not sample the Dungeness crab?’
She lifted her napkin from the table and spread it across her bump. ‘Not the most glamorous, I know, but I’d hate to ruin these gorgeous clothes that you stole for me from the First Lady.’
Lincoln laughed as he pulled a plate towards him and started lifting some food from the platter. The maternity clothes had been a godsend. Today Amy was wearing a deep purple smock, which complemented her red hair and pale skin perfectly. In fact, every time he saw her she had a different outfit on. He had the distinct impression that the First Lady had known exactly the impact her ‘cast-off’ clothes would have. Brownie points. Big time. ‘I didn’t steal them. She wanted you to have them. And it’s obvious you’re making good use of them—that’s what she wanted.’
Amy lifted a fork to her mouth. ‘So are you going to tell me anything interesting about the First Lady?’
‘And break patient confidentiality?’ He’d raised one eyebrow at her, in mock indignation, then bent over and took a bite of his crab, shaking his head as he quickly swallowed. ‘Nope. I’m not going to tell you a thing. Except she wanted you to use those clothes. Oh, and that she called me an incorrigible flirt—how dare she?’
Amy laughed. ‘Well, she got that right.’
‘I do not flirt, I’m just a friendly person,’ Lincoln protested.
Amy rolled her eyes. ‘Women fall at your feet everywhere, Linc.’
He paused for a second, as if lost in a thought, ‘Mmm, not all women. It’s only useful if it’s the woman you want.’
The air seemed to go silent around them. Amy bit her lip. What did that mean? Did he mean her? Had she fallen at his feet on the Amazon boat and he hadn’t wanted her to? Or was he talking about now, and how she was trying to keep her distance? She had no idea what was going on inside his head.
Amy took another bite of her shrimp, then broke the garlic bread in half, handing it to him across the table. A little twinge came across her back. Junior felt as if he was turning around inside her right now. She crossed then uncrossed her ankles, trying to find a more comfortable position.
‘Everything okay?’
‘That’s twice you’ve asked in the last fifteen minutes.’
‘And that’s twice I’ve caught you looking at me as if you want to take a meat cleaver to my head.’ Lincoln put his food back on the plate. ‘So spill, Amy, what’s eating you?’
‘Nothing.’
Lincoln gave a sigh and lifted his glass of root beer, which had magically appeared at his side. ‘So, if nothing’s wrong, quit being snarky. I’ve had a crappy day at work and I just want to come home and relax.’
‘Snarky? Is that even a word?’ She couldn’t help it. No matter how hard she tried, the words were practically a growl.
He lifted one eyebrow at her again. It was a habit of his that was really beginning to annoy her. No matter how chilled she tried to be.
‘Amy, I’m only going to ask this once more. What’s wrong?’
All of a sudden the gorgeous platter of food didn’t seem so appetising. It looked as if it could catch in her throat and choke her to death. Worse, she could feel tears start to form in her eyes. Why was she about to cry? What the hell was wrong with her?
She gulped as one tear escaped and slid down her cheek and she fumbled for her napkin. ‘Nothing’s wrong. And everything’s wrong. That’s just it, Linc. I don’t know what’s wrong—I just know something is.’
Within seconds he’d reached across the table and captured her hands in his. She could feel the warmth from his hands creeping up her arms. Her hands felt cold, like blocks of ice. Truth be told, her whole body felt like that.
Another tear slid down her face and she pulled her hand away, brushing the paper napkin against her face. ‘Damn pregnancy hormones,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t, Amy. Don’t do that. Don’t blame this on the fact you’re pregnant. We both know it’s not that.’ His voice cut through the dim light like a brilliant strobe, making her breath catch in her throat. He was looking directly at her, one hand now at the back of his head, pulling at his hair. His frustration was evident.
Silence. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she should say. She didn’t know what she could say.
In her head it was easy. She was a princess in a pink satin dress, standing at the top of her tower, and he was Prince Charming on the white charger below. But she wasn’t a child, and this wasn’t a fairy-tale. This was real and in her head the princess wasn’t pregnant with a sperm donor’s baby and hadn’t suffered from breast cancer and had a mastectomy. In her head the princess was the perfect healthy, whole, fertile partner that Prince Charming deserved.
Something she would never be.
‘You do know she’s got a crush on you—don’t you?’
‘What?’ Lincoln looked confused at the change in subject. ‘Who?’
‘Cassidy Yates, that’s who.’
Lincoln shook his head in bewilderment. ‘No, she doesn’t—that’s ridiculous.’
Amy banged her hand on the table. ‘Oh, yes, she does! I can see it every time she looks at you.’
Lincoln slammed down his glass, sloshing root beer all over the table. ‘And why does it matter? Why does it matter if she does have a crush on me? Why does it matter to you?’
She could feel her lips trembling and her hands begin to shake. He was angry. She’d never seen Lincoln angry before.
And it knocked the wind clean out of her sails.
He pushed himself up. ‘This isn’t about Cassidy Yates. This could never be about Cassidy Yates. This is about you and me, Amy. Don’t pretend it’s anything else.’
She could see the fire in his eyes, the pent-up frustration so tangible she could almost reach out and touch it.
Something gripped around her heart, squeezing it tightly. Could she tell him that she loved him? Could she say that right now she couldn’t bear to be
in the same room as him because she ached for his touch? Could she tell him that she wished she could turn back the clock six years?
No. No, she couldn’t. Because Lincoln didn’t need half a woman. He needed a whole one. He didn’t need a woman who was carrying someone else’s baby—a woman who would never be able to have any more natural children. He needed someone else, he deserved someone else. Someone who could give him children of his own.
But being around him and knowing that hurt like hell.
She had to get of there.
‘I can’t do this, Linc.’ She stood up and slid out from the booth. ‘I can’t do this right now.’ Her shaky voice grew firm, determined. ‘This isn’t a good time.’ Her hands rested on her belly. ‘I need to concentrate on this. I need to concentrate on him. Nothing is more important than this baby. I can’t let anything else confuse me.’ Try as she may and no matter how steady her voice was, she couldn’t meet his gaze. One look into those eyes right now and she could crumble.
Lincoln’s voice was barely contained. ‘So I “confuse” you now? That’s rubbish and you know it.’ He came around and stood directly in front of her, his hands touching her shoulders. ‘Tell me, Amy. Tell me how you feel.’
Her resolve started to shatter underneath her. Tears started to spill down her cheeks again. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if any of these feelings are real, or if they’re just a huge rush of hormones and nostalgia.’ She flung her arms out in frustration, then raised her hands to her temples. She winced as her fingers touched the sides of her forehead. ‘I can’t sort anything out in my head right now. I can’t think. I can’t concentrate.’ She shook her head furiously. ‘I can’t get rid of this damn headache!’
Her eyes finally met his. ‘I didn’t come here for me, Lincoln. I didn’t come here for you. I came here…’ she pressed her hands to her belly again ‘…for my son.’
Lincoln threw his hands up in frustration. He couldn’t stand this any longer. He’d spent the last few days tiptoeing around her. Keeping his distance—even though it was killing him. Giving her space, giving her time.