my dear, are an ice-cream hussy,” Rosie said. Then she slung her arm around Lucy’s fast-disappearing waist and kissed her back. “Love you, too.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, Rosie finished smoothing moisturizer into her face as she sat in bed. She dropped her hands into her lap, her thoughts on her sister. Lucy was so strong and bright and determined, but Rosie couldn’t help worrying about her. It was part of the job description of elder sister, but it also came down to simple empathy. Her sister was in a tough situation and Rosie would feel for any woman faced with the same challenges. The difference was, Lucy was her sister, and Rosie had a lifetime of feeling responsible for her to add to her natural sympathy. It made her want to move mountains for her, even though she knew her sister was determined to stand on her own two feet.
If only Marcus wasn’t such a loser. It wasn’t the first time Rosie had had the thought, and it wouldn’t be the last. From the moment she’d met him she’d spotted him for what he was—a moocher, content to pursue his “art” while someone else footed the bill for all the everyday things like food, water, shelter. That someone else had been Lucy for so many years that Rosie had almost gone crazy biting her tongue. And now Marcus had shown his true colors and bailed on her sister when she needed him the most.
What an asshole. Lucy deserved so much better.
“What time are the Johnsons coming in tomorrow?” Andrew asked as he exited the ensuite bathroom.
He had stripped down to his boxers, and as usual the sight of his solid, muscular body filled Rosie with a warm sense of comfort and proprietorial pride. He worked hard to stay fit, and she made a point of admiring the results as often as possible because she knew that, like her, he’d been an overweight teen and the ghosts of past shame still lurked in the corners of his mind.
“Looking fine, Mr. James. Looking fine,” she said, giving him her best leer.
Andrew struck a few muscleman poses, each more ridiculous than the last. She was laughing her head off by the time he slid into bed beside her.
“Come here,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist.
She went willingly, curling close to his big, warm body, her head resting on his shoulder. She wondered for perhaps the millionth time how she’d gotten so lucky. She’d had the hots for Andrew James since she walked into her first common-law lecture at Melbourne University. He’d been sitting in the third row, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’d glanced up from his notebook, and her brown eyes had met his blue, and the deal had been sealed then and there. He hadn’t even needed to smile, but when he did, she’d literally gone weak at the knees.
Rosie smiled as she remembered. She hadn’t believed in love at first sight until that moment. Life sure showed her.
“What are you smiling about?” Andrew asked.
“Just thinking about the first time I saw you,” she said.
“That old thing,” he said. “What is it with women, always mythologizing the past?”
She dug an elbow into his ribs. “Don’t ruin my sentimentality with your man-logic.”
Her thoughts inevitably clicked to the subject she’d been worrying at before Andrew came through from the bathroom.
“I wish Lucy could have met someone like you instead of Marcus the moocher,” she said.
“She’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”
“I can’t help it. It’s in my genes.”
“It’s not like she’s in this alone. She’s got Sophia and she’s got us. We’ll all pitch in.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know. But it’s close, and it’s more than a lot of people have. Lucy’s a lot tougher than you give her credit for, you know.”
“I know.”
“Anyway, it’ll be good practice for us, being Uncle Andrew and Aunty Rosie. By the time our own kids come along, I’ll have mastered the whole diaper thing, no problems.”
She tensed.
“Wow. I’ll have to tell Lucy you’re volunteering for pooper-scooper duty,” she said.
She felt his chest rise as though he’d taken a breath to say something, but he didn’t speak. For a moment there was a whole world of not-talked-about stuff hanging in the air between them.
“Oh, I forgot. The Johnsons. They rebooked for eleven,” she said.
“Right. Yeah, I’d forgotten,” he said.
He stretched to the side and clicked off the bedside lamp.
“Good night,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
She kissed his chest one last time and slid back to her side of the bed. As much as she’d love to fall asleep on him, she knew she’d just wake up in half an hour with a numb arm.
The sheets were cool on her side and she stared up at the ceiling, reliving that telltale little hitch in their conversation.
You have to pay the piper sometime.
There was a conversation coming, looming on the horizon. She knew that. And it filled her with fear. Because she knew how much Andrew wanted children—and she had no desire at all to be a mother.
CHAPTER THREE
ROSIE’S WORDS RETURNED to haunt Lucy as she approached the Bianco Brothers stall at the market the next morning. Dom was at the front of the stand and she was about to call out a greeting when he stooped to lift a box of potatoes. He was wearing a pair of well-worn Levi’s, and the soft denim molded his butt and thighs as he lifted the heavy load. His biceps bulged, visible against the tight cotton of a long-sleeved T-shirt, and Lucy found herself swallowing unexpectedly.
Then Dom turned and saw her, and his dark eyes lit up and his straight, white teeth flashed as he smiled. His black hair was curly and unruly around his face, and he was tanned from his months in Italy.
Okay. Maybe Rosie was on to something when she said he was a god, Lucy admitted to herself as she stared at him. Maybe he is attractive.
“Lucy. Be with you in a minute,” he said, dropping the potatoes onto another customer’s trolley.
Then he grabbed the hem of his long-sleeved T-shirt and tugged it over his head. Lucy’s eyes widened as she scored an eyeful of tanned, hard belly as whatever he was wearing underneath clung to the top he was removing.
Okay. Attractive is the wrong word. Sexy. Very, very sexy.
Lucy dragged her eyes away, frowning.
She was pregnant. Having a baby. With child. She had no business ogling hot guys at the market. She cursed her sister mentally. This was all Rosie’s doing, planting stupid suggestions in her head. If she hadn’t said all that stuff about Dom last night, there was no way Lucy would be standing here right now feeling like a pervert.
“How can we help you today?” Dom said, closing the distance between them.
Lucy smoothed her hands down the sides of her skirt and shook her head slightly to clear it.
“All the usual staples. Plus I need eggplants and a whole lot of fresh herbs,” she said, consulting her list.
“May I?” Dom asked. He held out a hand for the list.
“Sure.”
She’d given her list to Mr. Bianco a hundred times. So why did it feel different giving it to Dom?
Damn you, Rosie, and your stupid teen crush.
“Sorry, did you say something?” Dom asked.
“No! At least, I don’t think I did,”