Christmas-Eve Baby (7 page)

‘Oh, Nick.’ Kate sat back with a sigh. ‘You really are down in the dumps, aren’t you? You and Annabel did a fantastic job bringing up your children. You gave them every chance you could, they’ve all ended up qualified doctors and they’re all doing well. You should be proud of them. What more could you want?’

‘To know my daughter’s marrying the father of her child? A man worthy of her? To know my sons aren’t going off the rails—although if either of them would talk to me it would be an improvement—’

‘And when did you last try and talk to them?’

He went silent.

‘I thought so. Give them space, Nick, contact them—send them a text, tell them you’re thinking of them. Tell them about the house. Anything. Tell them you love them. Just don’t nag.’

He snorted, and she took his mug out of his hand and stood up. ‘Come on, it’s time you went home. I need to go to bed and so do you. You look exhausted. It’ll all feel better in the morning.’

‘Will it?’

His face was bleak, and she realised he was thinking about Annabel, about going home alone to an empty house. She knew all about that. Oh, she had Jeremiah, and she adored
every hair on his precious little head, but her bed was still cold and lonely at night.

‘Goodnight, Nick,’ she said firmly, and shut the door on him.

‘W
AS
that Kate?’

Lucy nodded and sighed, pushing her hair back off her face and running her fingers through it absently. ‘I’m sorry. Apparently my father was worried. He must have seen that my car wasn’t there and my lights were off. I expect he panicked. He’s such a worrywart.’

She looked troubled, and Ben just wanted to hug her, but he didn’t want to push it. Instead he tried the gentle voice of reason. ‘I can understand his concern. He’s lost a lot of people in his family. That would make him overprotective even if you weren’t pregnant and alone. And if he didn’t know you were going out.’

‘Oh, I know, but I just feel stifled—as if I have to log a flight plan every time I go to the supermarket! That’s why I won’t live with him, although in some ways it might be easier because I could just let him fuss me and give up fighting, but he’d drive me mad in a week.’

That made him smile. He could imagine her frustration but, like her father, he didn’t want her living alone. Not now. Not with the baby so close. He settled back on the sofa and looked across at her curled up at the other end, her slender legs tucked
up beneath her, the blatant fecundity of that smooth, round curve bringing out his paternal instinct in spades. ‘So—if you aren’t staying in your flat, and you don’t want to live with your father, and you won’t let me bully you into living with me—where do you want to live?’ he asked, trying hard to keep his voice casual. ‘If you could choose anywhere, regardless of anything.’

Her expression was wistful. ‘Really? Total fantasy? My grandparents’ house,’ she said, surprising him. ‘It was my grandmother’s family home for ages—the farmhouse, originally, although her brother died without a family and so she inherited it, and they sold off the farm and kept the house. It’s gorgeous. It’s a bit rundown now. I went over there with Dad the other day and it was looking so tired. That’s where he was this afternoon, clearing it out after the tenant left. He was elderly and he’s left it in a bit of a state, and it needs so much work if it’s going to be let again that Dad’s finally decided to get rid of it. It’s being auctioned this week.’

‘Really?’ His attention sat up and took notice of that, because his own house, dull and safe and just a stop-gap until he found somewhere with a bit more character, had been sold. That was why he was asking her, because now would be a perfect time to tailor his choice of new house to something that would fit her dreams. He’d lost the house he had been after, but he’d already accepted an excellent cash offer on his own house. The contracts had been exchanged, it was just a matter of settling the moving date—and that might just put him in a very good position…

‘I feel ridiculously sad about it going out of the family,’ Lucy was saying, her voice echoing her feelings, ‘and I think he does, too, but there’s no point in him keeping it, and I can’t
afford it, and there’s no way my two bachelor brothers would bother with it. It’s not a huge house, only four proper bedrooms and a bit of an attic, and it needs serious updating, but it’s got fabulous sea views, lovely garden—I adore it. So that’s my fantasy. Silly really.’

He felt a ripple of excitement. ‘Not at all. It sounds lovely. What’s it called?’

‘Tregorran House.’

He made a mental note, but it wasn’t necessary. ‘Have you got internet access?’ Lucy was asking, and he nodded.

‘Yes—why?’

‘It’s on the agent’s website,’ she told him, and within minutes he had it all. The details, the date of the auction, the guide price, the viewing arrangements and the location.

‘It looks pretty.’

‘Oh, it’s very tired and rundown,’ she pointed out. ‘Not that it matters. I won’t go again. The only good thing is the council has rejected any suggestion of developing the site, so I know it’ll stay as a home for some lucky family. Just not mine.’

She turned away from the computer, and he clicked the little heart that made it a favourite place so he could find it again when he next logged on, and shut it down.

She was back on the sofa, looking a little uncomfortable and very tired. He went over to her, hunkered down next to her and took her feet in his hands, lifting them onto his thigh and rubbing them gently.

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she sighed, and he shifted so he was kneeling and her feet were in his lap, and she closed her eyes and sighed again. She was looking so tired. Lovely, but so, so tired. Worn down by the worry of all this, of not knowing what to do about her father and her accommodation, and he
wanted so much to help her, to ease that burden, and yet he’d caused it.

Ben’s hands slowed and stopped, and he realised she was asleep. Very carefully and gently he lifted her legs up and swung them round onto the sofa, and she made a little noise and snuggled down. He took off his sweater and tucked it around her, then sat down by her feet and watched her while she slept. The baby was moving, her bump shifting and wriggling, and he watched it, fascinated, for what seemed like hours.

And then suddenly her eyes flew open, screwed up then she wailed and struggled to her feet.

‘What is it?’ he asked, panicking, and she grabbed her calf and muttered something pithy under her breath about idiots.

‘Cramp!’ she yelled when he asked her again. ‘Can’t you see I’ve got a cramp?’

‘So sit down and give me your leg,’ he ordered, stifling the urge to laugh at his reaction. He pushed her carefully back onto the sofa and took the leg out of her hands, bending her foot up, stretching out the muscle and massaging it firmly until it softened under his hands and she groaned with relief.

‘Sorry,’ she said meekly, but he didn’t care about what she’d said, what she’d called him, because he’d been holding her leg up in the air and trying really, really hard not to notice that under the pretty, clingy little jersey dress she’d put on for the evening she was wearing the most outrageous lacy knickers.

He dropped her leg as if it was red hot and moved away. ‘OK now?’

She nodded and hauled her skirt down, but it was too late for that, the damage was done. She yawned, sighed and made
to get up, and he sat down next to her and reached out a hand, resting it gently on her knee.

‘Stay.’

‘Stay, as in good dog?’

He smiled and shook his head. ‘Stay with me. You’re tired, you shouldn’t be driving when you’re tired.’

‘And sleeping with you is any more sensible?’

‘Why not? It’s not as if I’m going to get you pregnant.’

She laughed and stood up, moving away from him. ‘Why on earth do you want me to stay, Ben? I’m fat, I’m waddling…’

He thought of the knickers. ‘No. You’re pregnant. You’re not fat, and you’re not waddling.’

‘Humph.’

‘Well, not much,’ he said, trying to suppress a smile. ‘And you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

‘You’re such a liar.’

‘No. You are—beautiful and funny and warm and intelligent and sexy as hell.’

‘Sexy?’ she said, as if he was mad.

The knickers popped into his head again. ‘Yes. Sexy,’ he said firmly. ‘Desirable. Gorgeous.’

‘I’m pregnant,’ she said sceptically.

‘Yes. And still sexy as hell.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, I get it. You’re one of those men with a thing about pregnant women…’

‘Only when they’re carrying my child.’

Her jaw dropped fractionally, and she shut it and turned her head slightly. He could almost hear the cogs turning.

‘Lucy?’

She looked back, soft colour touching her cheeks. ‘Ben, I— This is a really lousy idea.’

‘Why? I’m not walking away. I fully intend to be there for you and the baby for ever. Why not start now? You don’t even have to sleep with me. I’ve got a spare room.’

She laughed a little oddly. ‘Bit late for that.’

He wanted to go to her, scoop her into his arms and carry her up to bed, but he forced himself to be still, to wait there for her to make the first move.

But she didn’t. She stood there, her lip caught between her teeth, her eyes wary. ‘Ben, what if—’

‘What if—what?’ And then he realised. She was afraid that when she took her clothes off he’d change his mind, find her unattractive. Crazy, silly woman. Not a chance. ‘Please?’ he said softly. ‘I just want to hold you.’

And that must have been enough, because her eyes filled with tears and she nodded, and then she was in his arms and he was carrying her up the stairs, laughing and protesting that he’d put his back out if he wasn’t careful. Once he’d put her down on the edge of the bed he sat beside her and stroked the hair back from her face.

‘Do you want a T-shirt to sleep in?’ he asked, knowing she’d be shy, and she nodded. He pulled a long one out of his drawer and handed it to her. ‘There’s a new toothbrush and some toothpaste and clean towels and stuff in the bathroom. You go first,’ he said, and shooed her in that direction, then turned back the quilt, stripped off his clothes, went into the
en suite
shower room and cleaned his teeth, then ran downstairs and brought up the tealight holder from the dining table and lit the candles.

He turned out the light, contemplated stripping off his jersey boxers and thought better of it, then got into bed.

He heard the loo flush, the water running, the door open,
the light click off, and then she was there, hovering in the doorway, her face troubled in the candlelight. He held his arm out to her in invitation.

‘Come and have a cuddle,’ he said gently, and after another moment’s hesitation she slipped into bed beside him.

‘Oh! It’s chilly,’ she murmured, and he tucked her up against him so that the firm bulge of her tummy was snuggled against his abdomen and her legs were tangled with his, and gradually, as all he did was hold her, he felt the tension ease out of her and her body relaxed against him.

God, it felt good to have her in his arms. He could feel the baby kicking, and he wondered how on earth she could rest while it fidgeted about like that. Then he got to wondering whether it was a boy or a girl, and if he cared, and he decided he didn’t, just so long as everything was all right.

And then he heard a soft snore, and with a wry chuckle he shifted slightly so her head was on his shoulder and not his arm. Tucking the quilt around her shoulders to keep out the draughts, he closed his eyes and lay there and thought about the future.

He didn’t know what it would bring, but one thing he was sure of—he and Lucy would be together, with their child, come hell or high water.

It was still dark when she woke up.

Dark, and warm, and deep inside her pillow she could hear a heart beating. Hers?

She shifted her legs, and found they wouldn’t move because they were tangled in—legs? Hard, muscular legs, hairy legs, long and lean and definitively masculine.

And her arm was draped across a lean, firm abdomen, her hand resting on a deep chest that rose and fell steadily.

Ben. Safe and solid and apparently not in the least interested in her if last night was anything to go by.

She lifted her head a fraction and tried to ease away, but the arm around her back tightened and eased her back again. ‘Don’t go.’

‘I need the loo,’ she said, and he sighed and released her.

The candles had gone out, and she couldn’t see where she was going. She heard the bed creak, felt the mattress shift, and the bedside light came on. ‘OK?’

‘Fine. Thanks.’

‘Want a drink?’

‘Oh. Water?’

‘Want tea? It’s nearly six. I have to get up soon.’

‘Tea would be great,’ she said, and then hurried to the bathroom as the baby shifted against her bladder and reminded her of why she’d woken up. And she sat there on the loo, looking down at this huge blimp that was her body now, and thought, He didn’t want me. He just held me all night, and he didn’t want me—not once he’d seen me like a beached whale in a T-shirt.

And she felt a stupid, stupid urge to cry. After all, she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him, hadn’t wanted him to initiate anything, and she’d been really tired.

Now, though, she was perversely disappointed, and she flushed the loo and had a quick wash and cleaned her teeth and wondered if she had time to get dressed again before he got back to the bedroom with the tea.

The answer was no. He was in bed, a mug on each bedside table, and he had his hands locked behind his head so she could see the broad expanse of his chest, lightly scattered with soft, dark hair, his arms powerful and strong. She knew they
were strong. They’d lifted her last night as if she weighed nothing, and she remembered that the last time he’d carried her, back in May, it had been because he had wanted her.

Not last night, though.

Damn. And now she had the embarrassing morning-after thing to get through.

‘You look better. You looked shattered last night.’

Oh, the compliments were flying today. ‘I was,’ she said, sliding into bed beside him and wondering how quickly she could drink her tea and get out of this humiliating situation.

‘What time do you have to be at work?’

‘Eight-thirty.’

‘It’s only ten to six. I don’t have to leave till seven.’

It could have been a simple statement of fact, but there was something in his voice, something warm and gentle and coaxing, and she risked a glance at him and saw he was looking at her with a question in his eyes.

She swallowed, and put her tea down untouched. ‘Ben—’

‘Come here.’

So she lay down, and rested her head on his chest, and his arm closed around her back, his free hand lifting her chin gently and tilting her head back so he could see into her eyes. ‘I want to make love to you, Lucy,’ he said softly, and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

‘Really?’

He gave a strangled laugh. ‘Really. Really, really really—if it’s what you want?’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ she whispered, and with a ragged sigh he rolled towards her, his mouth meeting hers hungrily. His hand ran down her body, his fingers splayed over her hip, her abdomen, up over her ribs, under the T-shirt and cupped her
breast with a groan. He pushed the T-shirt impatiently out of the way, then stared down at her, swallowing hard.

‘Your nipples are darker than they were. Like chocolate.’