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Genuine silk, my arse.
The twins suggested adding the voodoo doll to the pile, which added a solid minute-thirty to the fire.
Jane had to admit watching the flames crawl across Voodoo Sam’s face like some sort of living, breathing creature eating his flesh off was almost satisfying.
But she still felt unsettled. Not anxious. Not sad.
Just… off.
After the fire and some more 01fun time with the ridiculous caricature of her ex-fiancé, they all sat down for lunch. Jane tried to help, the kitchen being the one place in the world she didn’t feel like a complete loser, but no one would let her.
“Put your feet up, Jane.”
“We’ve got it covered, Jane.”
“Let us take care of you, Jane.”
So she sat and watched and cringed at Avery’s chopping technique, then she nibbled away at her lunch, and she made small talk about nothing in particular, and she smiled.
She smiled because not smiling at the people determined to take care of her meant crying. And crying meant pitying looks, and pitying looks made her sick to her stomach.
Speaking of which…. “I’m gunna be sick.”
The nearest bathroom was not near enough, so Jane raced out the front door and threw up in the garden. The taste of chicken salad and chipotle aioli soured her mouth, and she tried in vain to spit it out.
Well that was a waste of a good meal.
A minute later, a familiar voice sounded behind her. “Here, drink this.”
Closing her eyes, she took a moment to gather her wits before looking up at Rafe and the glass of whatever it was he was telling her to drink. “You again,” she grumbled, accepting the glass. “Are you stalking me now?”
In a move she was sure he thought intimidating, Rafe lifted his chin, raised one perfect dark brown eyebrow and stared at her. “Last I checked, you were in my house.”
Feeling too ill to argue, she sniffed the glass instead. Charlie and Toby’s home-brew. She took a gulp and sloshed the cold, sharp liquid around in her mouth, then gargled and spat it out. Rafe handed her a damp washcloth to wipe her mouth, and then she sat on the steps of the veranda and sipped more of the sweet, tangy ginger beer.
“Feel better?” Rafe said, taking a seat beside her.
No. “I’m fine.”
He chuckled. “Liar.”
Her stomach rolled again. “Fuck you, Bennett.”
“Ask me nicely, Melville.”
Jane did a double take. Rafe’s lips were lifted in a half grin. He was teasing her again, like he had over the coffee and about hitting Ollie. As if everything was back to normal. Which it most definitely was not.
Not by a long shot.
“Please don’t make me laugh,” she said, forcing herself to smile, “or I just might throw up on you.”
“I’ll risk it.” A big warm hand was suddenly rubbing circles on her back. It felt nice. Soothing. Suddenly her smile was a little less fake, her spine a little less rigid. “I was reading about morning sickness last night,” Rafe said. “According to the experts, it should end soon. Unless you’re one of the unfortunate few who get stuck with it for the whole nine months.”
Nine months of morning sickness?Oh, hell no.
Jane’s gaze slid sideways, her eyes wide, horrified. “Where did you read that? And why would you tell me?”
“I visited a few pregnancy and parenting websites. Maybe a forum or two,” he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. “What? I like knowing things. And correct me if I’m wrong, but you did say the baby is mine. I know you don’t want people knowing about that yet, but don’t think for a minute I’m going to sit back and let you go through this alone. Not after I heard you throwing up yesterday afternoon. You sounded like a dying yak.”
