Surprise: Outback Proposal: Surprise: Outback Proposal

“Absolutely,” she agreed with him. “Except for one tiny little thing—the bank doesn’t agree with me. They won’t lend me the money I need to get my Web site built. Without the site, I can’t generate more business, and without more business I can’t afford to put on a second van.”

Lucy looked down and seemed surprised that she’d polished off her dessert.

“So, basically, I’m screwed,” she said.

“Lucia Basso. If your mother could hear you now,” he said, mostly because he hated the despairing look that had crept into her eyes.

“It’s okay. She already thinks I’m screwed. It won’t be news to her.”

She met his gaze across the table, and they both burst into laughter. She laughed so hard she had to lean back in her chair and hold her stomach. By the time she’d gained a modicum of control, tears were rolling down her face.

“God, I needed that,” she said. Then her eyes went wide and she straightened in her chair as though someone had goosed her. “Oh!”

Both hands clutched her belly and she stared at Dom.

“What? Is something wrong?” he asked, already half out of his chair.

“The baby just moved!”

“Right.” He felt like an idiot for being on the verge of calling the paramedics.

“It’s the first time,” she explained excitedly. “All the pregnancy books say I should start feeling something about now, and I’ve been waiting and waiting but there’s been nothing—”

Her eyes went wide again and she smiled.

“There he goes again!” she said. “This is incredible! Dom, you have to feel this.”

Before he knew what she was doing she’d pushed aside her dressing gown to reveal the thin T-shirt she was wearing underneath, grabbed his hand and pressed his palm to her belly. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the fabric, the rise and fall of her body as she breathed.

“Can you feel it?” she asked, her voice hushed as though the baby might overhear her and stop 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 had to get up an extra two hours early in order to have the stock on hand for their customers.

“You know, if you’d let me manage the stock on the computer, we wouldn’t have these kinds of problems,” he said lightly.

To his surprise, his father blew up, sending a string of expletives and curses down the phone.

“I sick of hearing about computers. You said you not talk about them again. I expect you to honor this even if you honor nothing else!”

Dom let his breath out between his teeth. He loved his father, but he wasn’t a little boy anymore, and he certainly didn’t have to take crap from him—especially when it was out-of-line, unearned crap.

“Am I part of Bianco Brothers or not?” he asked.

“You are my son. This is stupid question.”

“Answer the question, Pa.”

“You are part of business. You there every day. You can’t work out for yourself?”

“So I’m an employee. Like Steve and Michael and Anna?”

“You are my son.”

Dom didn’t say a word, waiting for his father to stop hedging. The silence stretched tensely for long seconds before his father spoke again.

“What you want from me? You my right-arm man,” his father said, messing up his Anglo phrasing the way he often did. “I not manage without you. There. Happy now?”

“If that’s true, if I’m your second in command, I want a say. I want a vote. And I want a bit of respect while you’re at it,” Dom said.

“Respect! You talk respect when you speak to your own father like he is idiot who doesn’t know anything about anything. You have place in my business, good job. You should be grateful, counting your lucky stars, instead of whining and complaining.”

Dom held the phone away from his ear and swore long and loud. Why did he bother? Hadn’t he banged his head against this brick wall just the other day? His father didn’t want to change. He was old. And the truth was, Bianco Brothers was so successful that his father wouldn’t notice the business they would lose over the coming years as their competitors got leaner and meaner and more efficient. By the time his father was ready to retire—or he dropped dead on the job, which was just as likely—Dom would be left with the task of picking up the pieces and trying to claw back market share.

If he chose to take it.

“Good night, Pa,” he said. Then he ended the call.

“My business,” his father had said. Not “our business.”

Dom leaned against the kitchen counter. He had some decisions to make. If his father wasn’t going to allow him to grow, to have a say. Well, maybe Dom needed to forge his own way.

LUCY FELT RIDICULOUSLY shy as she arrived at the market the following morning. Last night she’d pressed Dom’s hand against her belly, practically strong-arming him into sharing her baby’s first movements.

What had she been thinking? As if he cared what was going on in her belly. He was her wholesale supplier, for Pete’s sake. The guy who used to sit two pews forward of her own family in church when they were kids. He didn’t want to know what her baby felt like when it kicked. Every time she remembered how she’d pressed his hand against herself her toes curled in her shoes.

It wasn’t until after he’d gone that she’d looked in the mirror and seen how puffy and red her eyes were. There was no way he wouldn’t have guessed she’d been crying. She could only imagine what he thought of her: poor, lonely Lucy, desperate for company.

She was relieved when she approached the stall and saw Dom was busy with another customer and his father was free. Mr. Bianco could help her with her order, and she wouldn’t have to talk to Dom today. One small thing going her way for a change.

“Lucy. You look beautiful,” Mr. Bianco greeted her, his chubby arms spread wide.

Dom glanced up from where he was standing nearby. His dark gaze was unreadable as he noted her.

“I’ll look after Lucy, Pa,” he said.

“You are busy,” Mr. Bianco said dismissively.

“I’ll just be a minute,” Dom said, addressing Lucy and not his father.

There was a definite tension between the two men, and Lucy shrugged uncomfortably.

“Sure. Whatever suits you guys,” she said.

Mr. Bianco opened his mouth to protest, but Dom nailed him with a look that had Mr. Bianco muttering under his breath as he moved off to serve someone else.

Lucy fiddled with the strap on her bag, nervous all over again now that she was going to have to face Dom after all. Maybe she should apologize for last night, for thrusting her baby bump at him. Just get the awkwardness out of the way and move on.

“Okay. Sorry about that,” Dom said.

She looked up, words of apology on the tip of her tongue.

“Listen, have you got time for a coffee? Sorry, a hot chocolate? Twenty minutes?” Dom asked.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Why did this man keep taking her by surprise?

“Sure,” she finally managed to croak.

Dom called out to his father that he was taking a break. Lucy left her trolley next to the stall and followed him to a café in the group of permanent shops that ran along Victoria Street beside the market. The woman behind the counter greeted him with a smile.

“We’ll have two hot chocolates, Polly,” he called as they sat.

Lucy clasped her hands nervously in front of her as Dom gave her his full attention. She had no idea what he was going to say to her, and she found his intense gaze unnerving. Suddenly all she could think about was how hot and heavy his hand had felt against her body last night.

Talk about inappropriate.

“I’ve been giving some thought to what we talked about last night,” he said. “About your business and your plans for the future.”

Lucy nodded. Right. He was going to offer her some advice, probably suggest she talk to one of the second-tier banks like everyone else had. She schooled herself to be patient. He was being kind, after all. And she’d shown herself to be in need of kindness last night.

“How would you feel about taking on a business partner?” Dom asked.

She blinked. “Excuse me?” she asked stupidly.

He smiled. “Bit out of the blue, huh? I think you’ve got some great ideas for your business, and I think you’ve tapped into a strong niche market. Market Fresh has a lot of potential. There’s no reason why you couldn’t be operating across the city, even expanding into other states.”

He smoothed some papers out on the table between them.

“What I’m proposing is a fifty-fifty business partnership. I’ll put up the capital to expand the business and build the Web site. You’ll bring the existing business and your expertise to the table.” He paused to look at her, his eyebrows raised in question.

She was too busy grappling for a mental foothold to say anything. Dom wanted to buy into her business? Become her partner? Give her the money she needed to make her business a success?

“But you already have a business,” she said, blurting out the first thought that popped into her mind.

“No. My father has a business. I just work for him,” he said. There was a tightness around his mouth that hadn’t been there yesterday. A determination.

“You don’t know anything about my business. You haven’t seen the books. You have no idea what my turnover is,” she said, frowning.

“Of course I’d want my accountant to take a look at things before we signed anything. I guess what I’m asking at this stage is if this sounds like something you might consider?” Dom asked.

Their hot chocolates arrived, and Lucy bought some time by fiddling with her cup and saucer.

Did she want a business partner? Being her own boss had been part of the appeal of starting Market Fresh, but taking on a partner wouldn’t necessarily mean she wouldn’t still have her independence. It would mean compromises though, having to listen to other ideas and incorporate them into her plans.

She eyed Dom assessingly. She hardly knew him really. Didn’t know if he was hot tempered or easygoing, impulsive or rational. All she knew was what she’d observed of him over the year she’d been a customer at Bianco Brothers. He was good with customers. He was smart. He knew his product. He knew the industry.

“I’ve never thought about taking on a partner. Mostly because it’s never come up before.” She studied his face. She didn’t quite know how to ask her next question, so she decided to just go for it.

“Why me? Why Market Fresh?”

He took a sip of his hot chocolate before answering.

“I’m thirty-one and I’ve been working for my father all my adult life. I’ve always thought I’d take over when he retired. But I’m beginning to realize that that might be a long way off. And that maybe I don’t want to be Tony Bianco’s boy anymore. I have ideas, things I want to try, and he’s not open to them.”

“Okay. I get that part. But you could do anything.”

“Sure. I could start my own business. Go through all the pain of establishing myself, learn a new industry. Or I could find someone like you who has done all that hard stuff already.”

He eyed her over the rim of his cup.

“And you need help,” he added. “Which, speaking from a purely selfish point of view, means I’ve got a certain amount of leverage.”

Lucy dipped her head in acknowledgment of his brutal honesty. “Well. I asked,” she said ruefully.

“Yep.”

He sat back in his chair, his hands toying with his cup, spinning it on the saucer. His eyes never left hers as he waited for her to think things over some more.

What did she have to lose, after all? Her business, was the answer. And she was very afraid that she would do just that if she didn’t take him up on his offer. She needed capital to grow. That was the bottom line.

“Okay. I’m interested,” she said.

He smiled slowly. Suddenly she wished that her sister had never made her take a second look at him. Two weeks ago, he was a man, a human being like any other. Today, thanks to Rosie’s teen obsession, Lucy felt a distinct frisson race up her spine as she registered how very, very good-looking he was.

Again, so not appropriate. Especially given her situation and the offer he’d just put on the table.

“Great. Why don’t we meet on Sunday? That will give me time to get a preliminary offer drawn up. Rosetta will probably want to take a look at it, right?”

“Oh yeah. She’ll probably want to pat you down and ransack your house and run an FBI check on you,” Lucy said.

He smiled again. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

He leaned across the table and held out his hand. She hesitated a second before taking it. His hand was warm and firm.

“To new beginnings,” he said.

She nodded, unable to speak for some reason while he held her with his dark gaze.

“We’d better get you on the road,” he said.

She followed him to the stall, feeling more than a little dazed. After what had happened with her sister’s offer of a loan, she knew it would be stupid to get too excited. So many things could go wrong. Dom could change his mind after he’d looked at the books. His lawyer or accountant might have objections. Anything could go wrong.

And yet a slow excitement was bubbling through her blood. If this came off, her problems were solved. She’d have the capital she needed to grow. She’d have a fighting chance to secure her and her baby’s future.

She closed her eyes for a minute.

Please, please, please let this happen.

She wasn’t quite sure who she talking to, but she hoped like hell they were listening. It was about time she scored a break.

CHAPTER FIVE

“YOU’RE NOT WEARING that,” Rosie said as Lucy loaded paperwork into her tote bag.

After two weeks of negotiations and discussions, she and Dom had signed a partnership contract the previous day. Lucy still couldn’t quite believe that her money problems were over. Well, not over, but at least in a holding pattern for a while. She had a chance now to do what she needed to grow her business. Which was what today’s lunch meeting with Dom was all about—planning for the future.

“Lovely. Thank you for the confidence boost,” Lucy said.

“I didn’t mean you look bad. You just look … ordinary,” Rosie said.

Lucy looked down at the plain black pants, black turleneck and black boots she was wearing. The pants were new, the first of her true pregnancy wardrobe. The turtleneck was old and would probably never look the same again after being stretched over her belly.

“I am ordinary,” she said dismissively.

“Why don’t you wear that red stretchy shirt? That always looks great with black.”

“It makes my boobs look huge.”

“Exactly,” Rosie said with a grin.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You are seriously turning into a pimp. You need help.” She was only half joking—her sister’s continual comments about Dom were starting to wear her down.

“He asked you to lunch,” Rosie said.

“It’s a work meeting, not a date.”

“He likes you, Lucy. He flirts with you every time we see him. Yesterday, when we signed the contract, he even ordered you food from the bar without asking because he knows you get hungry all the time. How many more signs do you want that this man has the hots for you?”

“None. I just signed a partnership contract with him. I don’t want him to have the hots for me.” Lucy shook her head. “Why are we even having this conversation? He does not have the hots for me. He’s a nice guy. He’s considerate. He’s like that with all his customers. He’s like that with you.”

“He doesn’t look at me the way he looks at you,” Rosie said.

“And how does he look at me?” Lucy asked, hands on hips.

“Like he wants to take a bite out of you,” Rosie said. “Like a starving man looks at a feast.”

Lucy hooted with laughter.

“You are so deluded. Starving man, my ass. He’s newly divorced, he’s just spent six months traveling through Italy. He’s probably got women lined up around the block to throw themselves at him. There’s no way he’s interested in a five months pregnant woman. No. Way.”

“You’re nineteen weeks,” Rosie said a little sulkily. “Not quite five months.”

“Which means I’m only cow-like instead of elephant-like. You need to stop trying to live out your teen obsession through me.”

“It wasn’t an obsession,” Rosie said.

Lucy gave her a look.

“Okay, it was slightly obsessive. But that’s not why I want you to wear the red shirt. He’s a nice guy. I think he’d make a great father.”

Lucy stilled, the smile fading from her lips.

“I’m not looking for a father for my baby,” she said.

“Marcus isn’t going to help you carry the load, Lucy,” Rosie said.

Lucy eyed her sister steadily. She needed Rosie to understand that she couldn’t buy into the romantic fantasy she was spinning. She didn’t have the luxury to indulge those kinds of dreams anymore.

“I know you’re trying to help, but please can we stop it with the whole Dom-likes-me thing? He’s my business partner. All I want from him is hard graft and a cash injection. I don’t want him to like me. And I don’t want to like him. We’re business partners, and I need one of those much more than I need a man in my life. Even if that was an option that was on the table. Which it isn’t.”

For a moment Rosie looked as though she was going to object, then she sighed and shrugged a shoulder.

“Fine. Bury your head in the sand.”

Lucy palmed her car keys. “Thank you. You know how much I like it there.”

Dom had given her directions to his house in Carlton and she found it easily. A double-fronted terrace house, it was a pale cream color, the trim painted heritage green and red. Someone had placed terra-cotta planter boxes along the front edge of the front porch, but they were full of dirt and nothing else. She wondered if Dom’s ex-wife had been the gardener and felt sad for him. No one got married expecting it to end in divorce.

Warm air rushed out at her when he opened the door to her knock.

“Lucy. Come on in. I’m just finishing up the gnocchi dough,” he said.

She managed a greeting of some description, but she had no idea what she’d actually said. She was too busy reeling from the impact of Dominic Bianco in bare feet, well-worn jeans and a tight, dark gray T-shirt. His hair was ruffled and casual, his eyes warm.

He was so earthily, rawly sexy it took her breath away.

She barely noticed the polished hardwood floor beneath her feet or the ornate plasterwork on the cornices and ceiling as she followed him down the hall.

She gave herself a mental slap. She had no business being so aware of Dom as a man. It was ridiculous and counter-productive and she needed to get a serious grip. Right now. Dom was her business partner. End of story.

“I’m making my mama’s secret gnocchi,” Dom said over his shoulder. “If you notice any of the ingredients, you have to take the information to your grave with you.”

They entered a wide, spacious living area with a vaulted ceiling. Immediately in front of them was a sleek, dark stained table. To the left was a modern white kitchen with dark marble countertops. Beyond she could see comfortable-looking brown leather couches and French windows that opened onto a deck.

“I promise not to look,” Lucy said.

She noted the two place settings at the table. Everything looked perfect, from the red roses in a sleek vase to the snowy white linen napkins folded neatly across each side plate. She frowned.

Dom moved behind the island counter and reached for a handful of flour. She watched as he dusted the counter prior to rolling out the dough.

She smiled uncertainly when he glanced up at her.

“You want to take your coat off? I should have asked before I got flour on my hands again. Just throw it on the couch.”

She took advantage of his suggestion to try to pull herself together, but nothing could stop the way her brain was suddenly whirring away.

He’d gone to a lot of trouble for a simple business meeting. The flowers, the beautifully set table. Unless she was hugely mistaken, he’d even ironed the napkins. And he was making pasta by hand for her.