English Girl in New York (10 page)

Neat. Tidy. Everything in its place.

There was nothing strange about that. Lots of women he knew were tidy. But there was something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He moved across the room, putting his hand on the back of the leather sofa.

This wasn't Carrie's place, so she wouldn't have chosen any of the furnishings. But she'd been here for a few months now.

The darkness wasn't helping. Nor was the sight of Carrie's behind in her jeans as she bent over the cupboards and pulled out an array of candles.

She walked back over, fumbled through a drawer for a box of matches and lit the candle she was holding in a glass jar. The warm light spread up around her face, illuminating her like some TV movie star.

Candlelight suited her. Her pale skin glowed, her brown curly hair shiny and her eyes bright. She smiled as she held it out towards him and the aroma from the melting wax started to emerge.

He wrinkled his nose. ‘What is that? Washing powder?'

She waved her hand in the air to waft the smell a little further. ‘Close. Cotton fresh. I've also got lavender, orange, cinnamon, raspberry, spring dew and rain shower.'

‘Sheesh. Who names these candles?'

She lit another one and moved over next to him again. ‘I think it would be a great job. Right up there with naming paint shades.'

‘You'd have a field day doing that.'

‘You can bet on it. Imagine the fun. Shades of yellow—sunshine rays or daffodil petals. Shades of purple—sugared violet, lavender dreams or amethyst infusion.' Even in this dim light he could see the twinkle in her eyes and the enthusiasm in her voice were completely natural.

‘Wow. You weren't joking, were you?' He took a little step closer.

She shook her head slowly. ‘I don't know how the careers advisor missed it from my career matches.'

He could see her automatic reaction. She was drawn towards him.

A thought jumped into his head, tearing him away from the impure thoughts starting to filter through his brain. He groaned. ‘What about the power? How can we sterilise the bottles and make the milk for Abraham?'

She touched his arm and an electric current shot straight up towards his shoulder, sending his brain straight back to his original thoughts. There was hesitation. She'd noticed it, too. ‘We should be fine,' she said quietly, lifting her eyes slowly to meet his. ‘I had just boiled the kettle and resterilised the bottles. We can make up one when we go back downstairs.' She was staring at him. Even in the dark light he could see the way her pupils had widened, taking over most of her eyes. Natural in the dark, but it didn't feel like that kind of response. It felt like another entirely.

He set his candle down on a nearby side table, letting the glow shine upwards, emphasising the curve of her breasts and hips. He couldn't pretend any more. He couldn't hide his reactions. He didn't want to.

He put his hand on her hip, pulling her closer, leaving her with a candle jar clutched to her chest. ‘So, not only am I marooned here—' he waved his other hand around ‘—in a snowstorm, with the power out, with a lady who found a baby on the doorstep and knows all the words to every musical known to man—' his hand came back to rest on her other hip, pulling her even closer with only the burning candle between them ‘—I find out she's also slightly crazy. With career ambitions even the career-matching machine couldn't have predicted.'

There was hesitancy there. A little apprehension—even though they had been lip-locked a few minutes ago. But Carrie was gradually relaxing. He could feel the tension leaving her arms and her body easing into his. She moved the flickering candle from between them, pressing her warm breasts against his chest. If she moved any more, things could start to get out of hand.

But she was smiling. A happy, relaxed smile. A warm smile. The kind he'd only glimpsed on a few rare occasions over the past two days. The kind that showed she'd let her guard down. The metal portcullis that was kept firmly in place was starting to ease up—ever so gently.

It revealed the real Carrie McKenzie. The kind of person she could be—if she was brave enough. The kind of person he'd like to know more about—be it vertical or horizontal.

Stop it!
He tried to push those thoughts from his crowded head. Carrie just wasn't that kind of girl. And instead of lessening the attraction it only heightened it.

He reached up and pulled one of her long chestnut curls from behind her ear. ‘I like your hair down. It's beautiful. Really flattering.' He hesitated a second as his finger brushed the side of her face. He didn't want to push this. He didn't want to scare her off.

Even though his male urges were giving him a whole other vibe his brain kept jumping in to keep him in check. ‘Sexy,' he murmured, holding his breath to see the effect of his words.

He could almost predict she would tense and pull away. It was the biggest part of Carrie that he'd seen over the past couple of days.

But something had changed. The dim lights, the candles or just her new relaxed state meant that instead of pulling away she brushed closer against him and rested her hands on his shoulders. ‘Sexy—I like that.' Her breath was dancing against his skin. He had to let her be the one to make the move. He had to be sure about this.

Those few seconds seemed like forever.

But she did move. Her body pressed against his a little more firmly and he felt her rise up on her tiptoes. Her lips brushed gently against his, then with a little more confidence her kisses became surer. His hands moved to her ribs; he could feel her deep breaths against the palms of his hands. He couldn't stop them. He wanted to do more.

She had one hand on his back, the other at the side of his face as she deepened their kiss, teasing him with her tongue.

It was driving him crazy.
She
was driving him crazy.

He wanted to release the emotions and passions that were currently stifled in his chest doing their best impression of a smouldering volcano. But Carrie had to feel in control. He could sense how important that was.

He had to concentrate. He couldn't lose himself in this. It was far too tempting. Far too tempting by half.

All he had to do was edge his hands a little higher and then he would feel her warm skin, be able to cup the warm mounds of her breasts and...

He stepped back. Slowly, pulling his lips apart from hers. Careful to let her know he hadn't suddenly changed his mind about this.

His voice was hoarse. Too much pent-up expectation. ‘I hate to remind you, Carrie McKenzie, but we have a sleeping baby downstairs. We've only been gone a few minutes but if you distract me for another second...' He let his voice drift off, leaving her in no doubt as to his meaning.

He wasn't pulling away from her because he didn't want to kiss her.

He was pulling away because right now he
should.

She bit her lip.

A tiny movement. And one that could be the complete undoing of him. He wanted to slam her apartment door shut and drag her through to the bedroom. And forget about everything else and everyone.

But on the floor underneath them lay a little boy. He'd already been abandoned by one adult. He certainly didn't need to be abandoned by two others.

Daniel's sense of duty ground down on his chest.

He tugged at his jeans, trying to adjust them. Some human reactions were as natural as breathing.

Others he would have to control.

She nodded. ‘Let me grab a few things that I might need.' She picked up one of the candles and walked over to her bedroom, opening a cupboard and pulling a few items of clothing out.

In the flickering candlelight he could make out the outline of her bed and possessions scattered around the room. A smile danced across his lips. Carrie McKenzie's bedroom. Would he ever get an invite into there?

It wasn't entirely what he'd expected. No flowers. No pink.

A bright green duvet, a mountain of pillows and a matching fleece comforter across the bottom of the bed. An electronic tablet and a few books were scattered on the bedside table, along with a few other obligatory candles. He wondered what scent they were. What scent she liked to fall asleep to.

A silver box lay on top of the bedclothes.

Her eyes flickered over to it and there was something—was it panic?—before she moved quickly, picked up the box and tucked it under the bed. She tucked the assorted clothes under her arm and appeared under his nose. ‘Ready.'

It was just a little too bright. A little too forced. As if she was trying to distract him.

He'd just been kissing this woman but there were still parts of her she wanted to keep hidden. A tiny flare of anger lit in his stomach, only for him to extinguish it almost as quickly. He should know better than most. Everyone had secrets they wanted to hide. Parts of their life they wanted to remain hidden. Why should Carrie be any different?

‘Let's go. We need to check on Abraham, and Mrs Van Dyke.'

He turned to follow her out of the door. And then it hit him.

That was what was wrong with this place.

There was nothing really of
Carrie.

Oh, she might have her candles and a few books.

But there were no photos. Not a single one.

It sent a strange sensation down his spine. Every woman he'd ever known had pictures of their friends and family dotted around. Even he had some family pictures in various places around his apartment.

Carrie didn't have one. Not a single one.

What did that mean? She'd been here two months, surely enough time to get some family snaps out. Wasn't there anyone to miss back home?

‘Dan, what's wrong? Let's go.' Carrie stuck her head back around the door, her impatience clear. Or was it her hurry to get him out of her apartment?

With one last look around he followed her out and pulled the door shut behind him.

There was more to Carrie McKenzie than met the eye.

And he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

CHAPTER SEVEN

W
HEN
C
ARRIE
OPENED
her eyes that morning it was to a totally different sight.

Blue walls and white bed linen.

The disorientation was over in an instant. She drew in a deep breath. It was strange waking up in someone else's bed.

She'd felt like that the first few nights in the apartment upstairs. Then, after a week, she hadn't even noticed. It just proved to her how much
home
in London hadn't really felt like
home
any more.

Dan's place was much more lived-in than hers. But then, he'd spent most of his life here. In amongst the state-of-the-art television and digital sound system, there were tiny ornaments, old picture frames and the odd piece of antique furniture. The little dark wood side table next to the door was her favourite. He hadn't really said much about how he'd ended up living with his grandmother and she didn't want to pry.

Just as she didn't want him to pry too much, either.

An unconscious smile crept across her face. He'd kissed her.

And she'd kissed him back.

Her first kiss since...

And it felt nice. It felt good.

Actually it felt a lot more than all that. Nice and good made it sound like a safe kiss. A kiss that was taking her on the road to recovery.

But Dan's kiss had ignited a whole lot more than that in her. She almost couldn't sleep last night when they'd parted. It was amazing how long you could lie staring up at the ceiling while your brain was on a spin cycle.

She looked around the room. A pair of his boots were on the floor, along with a pair of jeans slung across a chair. She could almost still see the shape of his body in those jeans. And it sent another lot of little pulses skittering across her skin.

Dan had decided to do the night shift last night. She was almost sure another two slices of her chocolate cake had been the appropriate bribe for him to spend the night on his lumpy sofa.

Abraham. He appeared in her thoughts like a flash and she sat upright in bed.

She hadn't heard him. She hadn't heard him at all.

A chill spread across her body instantly, reaching straight down into the pit of her stomach. Sending its icy tendrils around her heart.

No. Surely not.

She was up and out of the bedroom before her feet even felt as if they'd touched the wooden floor. Her steps across the floor the quickest she'd ever moved. Her breath caught in her throat and she leaned over the crib.

Empty. It was empty.

She spun around. ‘Dan—' And stopped dead.

Dan was upright on the sofa, fast asleep with Abraham tucked against his shoulder. She'd obviously missed quite a bit last night. Why hadn't he woken her up? More importantly, why hadn't she heard?

In her haste across the room she hadn't even looked over at his slumped frame. She'd been so focused on Abraham. So focused on the baby.

Dan's eyes flickered open and he lifted his hand covered in the cast to rub his sleep-ridden eyes. ‘Wake my baby and I'll kill you,' he growled, echoing her words from the day before.

‘I'm sorry,' she gasped. ‘I just woke up and realised I hadn't heard him all night. I thought something was wrong. Then he wasn't in the crib and I—' She stopped to draw breath, conscious of the look on Dan's face. ‘What? What is it?'

The coldness of the wooden floor was starting to seep through her toes and up her legs, making goosebumps erupt on her skin—her woefully exposed skin.

‘Oh!' She lifted her arms across her breasts. Some body reactions weren't for public view.

Dan had been right about her other nightwear. Her tiny satin nightie covered her bum and not much more. Last night she'd been wearing her dressing gown—her eternal protection—and hadn't removed it until she'd climbed into bed. The power had come back on and the temperature in the apartment was warmer than usual, both having agreed that due to the lack of appropriate clothing for Abraham they needed to raise the temperature slightly. So she couldn't have bundled up in her usual fleece pyjamas—not without melting completely—and Dan would never see her in her nightie anyway, would he? Until now.

The cold floor had the ultimate effect on her body. Her nipples were firmly pressed into the sides of her arms across her chest. They had obviously been the feature that had caught his attention.

‘Give me a second,' she blurted as she made a run for the bedroom and the sanctity of her dressing gown. Too late she realised how much her slight nightie must have flapped around her behind, leaving little to the imagination.

She emerged a few minutes later, trying not to look completely flustered.

‘I'll make breakfast this morning,' she said brightly. ‘It was American yesterday—you made pancakes. So I think it will be tea, toast and marmalade this morning.'

Dan couldn't wipe the smile off his face, even though she was trying desperately to change the earlier subject. He shook his head. ‘I sense distraction techniques, Carrie McKenzie. But since I'm a gentleman with an empty stomach I'll let it go. As for toast and marmalade? No, you don't. You sabotaged the pancakes with your butter and jam. And don't even think about making me tea after the night I've had. I need coffee. With at least three shots.'

Guilt surged through her and she sat down next to him. She was safe now; she was completely covered. ‘Was Abraham really bad last night? I'm so sorry. I never heard a thing.'

‘I noticed.' He shook his head and gave her a weary smile. ‘If I'd needed you, Carrie, I would have woken you up. But it was fine.' He paused. ‘Well, actually, it wasn't fine, but I closed the door so you wouldn't hear. I figured this was hard enough for you and a night with no sleep wouldn't help.'

She was stunned.

It was no secret she hadn't managed to hide things from Dan. He'd already asked her on more than one occasion what was wrong and she hadn't responded. Because she didn't feel ready to.

It had only been a few days. And she didn't know him that well—not really. But Dan had taken actions last night to make sure she had some respite. He was reading her better than she could have ever thought. Was it the cop instincts? Did he just know when to push and when to back off?

Did they even teach things like that in cop school? Or was he just good at reading her? At sensing when things were tough and she needed to step back. She wasn't ready to share. Or was she?

Her friends back home all knew about the stillbirth. And they either tiptoed around her or tried to make her talk. Neither way worked for her.

She needed to talk when
she
was ready. Not when they were ready.

Maybe it would be easier to share with someone from outside her circle of friends. Someone who could be impartial and not try to hit her with a whole host of advice about what to do and how she should feel.

Dan was the first guy to cause her stomach to flutter in a whole year. She'd thought that part of her had died. And nothing would cause it to wake up again. But the close proximity was definitely a factor. How much of a risk would it be to tell him, to trust him?

Looking at the snow outside, they could be here for at least another whole day. The flickering TV in the corner of the room still had the yellow strip running across the news report, telling about more snowfall and more people cut off from their family and friends. ‘I see there's going to be more snow.' She nodded at the TV.

He sighed. ‘Yeah.' He shrugged his shoulders as his eyes met hers. ‘Seems like we're not going anywhere fast.'

‘At least the electric shower will be working. And the kettle and hob. I'll be able to sterilise things and make some more bottles for Abraham.' The practical things. The things that always came into her brain first.

But there was something else there. Something else drumming away inside her head.

They were stuck here. For at least another day.

Another day with delectable Dan.

Another day with a baby. Could she cope? Could she do this again?

It was as if something happened inside. A little flare sparked inside her brain. This was it. This was her chance.

If only she had the courage.

She held out her hands towards Abraham. Would Dan notice they were trembling? ‘May I?'

He nodded and handed over the half-sleeping babe to her. Abraham didn't seem to mind who was holding him. He snuggled instantly into her shoulder, obviously preferring the upright position.

There was a loud splurging noise, closely followed by a smell creeping around the apartment. Carrie wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh, Abraham. How could you?'

Her hand felt along his back and came into contact with a little splurge at the side of the nappy and halfway up his back. She let out a sigh and set him down in the crib.

‘I guess it's going to be a bath for you, little sir.'

‘How are we going to manage that? We don't have a baby bath.'

Carrie walked over to the deep kitchen sink. ‘We'll improvise. This is the best we've got. Don't you remember ever getting bathed in the kitchen sink as a child?'

He shook his head. ‘Can't say that I do. Is it an English tradition?'

Carrie had started to scrub the sink within an inch of her life. ‘I guess it must be, then. My gran's got some pictures of me sitting bare naked in her kitchen sink. I thought everyone did that.'

She filled the sink with some tepid water and baby bubble bath before testing the temperature. She stripped Abraham's clothes and put them in a bucket of cold water to soak. Dan wrinkled his nose. ‘I'm going to wash these? Really? Wouldn't it be better just putting them in the garbage?'

Carrie shook her head. ‘We don't have that luxury, Dan. We only have a few things that fit him. They'll just need to be soaked and then boil washed.'

Dan lifted the bucket and headed down to the laundry. ‘Be back in five,' he said.

Carrie lifted Abraham from the towel he was squirming on. ‘Let's see if we can get this all off you,' she said as she gently lowered him into the warm water.

The expression on his face was priceless. First he squirmed. Then he let out a little yelp of dismay. It only lasted for a few seconds before the shock of being cold disappeared and his little body picked up the surrounding warm water. He gave a little shudder. Then started to kick his legs.

She smiled. His first baby bath.

Her first baby bath. And it was just the two of them.

There was something about it that was so nice. She knew this should be a moment that he shared with his mother. But it was almost as if this were meant to be. She watched as his little legs stretched out and kicked in the water in the sink. She lapped the water over his stomach and chest. He let out a range of little noises. If she didn't know better she could imagine he was almost smiling.

Some babies screamed when they hit the bathwater, hating being stripped of their warm cocoonlike clothes. But not Abraham. He seemed to relish it, enjoying kicking his legs in the water.

She lifted some cotton wool balls, being careful to make sure he was entirely clean. Turning his position slightly, so she could make sure there was nothing left on his back.

That was when it happened.

That was when he gave a little judder.

She knew instinctively something was wrong. She turned him over, her hands struggling to hold his slippery body as she panicked. He was pale. Deathly pale. Almost as if he was holding his breath.

No. No!

She let out a scream. She couldn't help it. The whole world had just started to close in all around her. She grabbed him beneath the arms and thrust the dripping baby into Dan's arms as he strode back through the door.

‘Carrie, what's wrong?'

She couldn't stop. She couldn't breathe. Her feet carried her outside the apartment door and out onto the steps. The cold snow-covered steps where she'd found him. As soon as she reached the cold air it was as if her legs gave way and she collapsed down onto the steps, struggling to catch her breath.

There were tiny little black spots around her vision. She put her head between her legs and told herself to breathe slowly. But nothing could stop the clamouring in her chest.

That sight. That pale little body. That still little chest. It had been too much for her. That momentary second of panic had made her head spin. No one should have to go through that twice in their life.

No one was meant to experience that again.

Breathe. In through her nose, out through her mouth. And again. Breathe. In through her nose and out through her mouth.

She tried to get control. Her senses were picking up something else. A noise. A background noise. A baby crying.

Then she started to sob. Uncontrollably sob. Abraham was fine. She knew that. She'd panicked. If she'd stopped to think—even for a moment—she would have realised he'd only been holding his breath for a second. But she couldn't. She didn't possess those rational kinds of thoughts any more. And she doubted she ever would.

Then she felt it, a hand creeping around her shoulders and a body sitting on the step next to her. The heat of another body touching hers. The comfort of an arm around her shoulders and the feeling of somewhere she could lay her head.

But he didn't speak. Dan just held her. She didn't know how long passed. She didn't know how long she sobbed. All she knew was his arms were around her and he was holding her—as if he would never let go.

His hand was stroking her hair. It was bitter cold out here, but neither of them seemed to notice. ‘Tell me, Carrie,' he whispered. ‘Tell me how to help you.'

‘You can't, Dan.' It was a relief to say the words out loud. ‘I panicked. I thought Abraham had stopped breathing.'

‘He's fine, Carrie. Abraham is absolutely fine.' His voice washed over her, like a calm, soothing tonic. He lifted her chin towards his face. ‘But you're not.' His finger traced the track of tears down her cheek. ‘You're not fine, Carrie. Tell me why not.'