Their Christmas Family Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘SO WHAT was that all about?’

  She swam over to Kate and propped her arms on the edge of the pool. ‘He’s offered me a job. Apparently his translator wants to take a career break.’

  ‘Judith? I didn’t know that. Wow. Well, you’ve obviously made a good impression. I’m so sorry you ended up in that difficult situation with him before Christmas, by the way. I’ve been feeling so guilty, but you’ve obviously survived it. How did it go?’

  How did it go? Between the tears and the heart-searching—

  ‘OK. It was OK. Fun. He was brilliant. We went to the supermarket and bought loads of food, and I cooked Christmas lunch, and he bought the children little presents—he even got the dog a coat.’

  ‘Good grief,’ Kate said faintly. ‘Still, it shouldn’t really surprise me—when he does something, he usually does it well. He’s a stickler for detail.’

  ‘Hmm, that’s what worries me about taking this job on. What if I’m not good enough?’

  ‘You will be,’ Kate said instantly. ‘Of course you will be. He’s only got to look at your references to know that. Is he taking them up?’

  ‘He says not.’

  Kate’s eyes widened, and then she started to laugh. ‘Oh, my. Still, it’s not the first time, he’s a very good judge of character, but…Millie, I have a feeling he really likes you. As in, likes you.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. No way, Kate, it’s too complicated. He isn’t in the market for that sort of thing and neither am I.’

  ‘How do you know? That he isn’t, I mean? Did he say something?’

  Damn. ‘Well, he wouldn’t be, would he?’ she said, going for the obvious in the interests of preserving his privacy. ‘Three kids and a dog? You’d be insane to want to take that on. And besides, what would I want with another entrepreneur? I’ve had it with living my life on a knife-edge, waiting for the next roll of the stock market dice to see if I’ll be homeless or not. I want security, Kate, and I don’t need a man for that. But I will take his job, and as soon as I can I’ll find a house and get out of his hair and get our life back on track. Get the kids enrolled in a new school, and start again. And hopefully, this time it’ll last longer than a few months.’

  ‘So what’s for supper?’ he asked, coming up behind her and peering over her shoulder as she stirred the pan on the stove.

  ‘Would you believe a variation on the theme of turkey?’ she said with a laugh, and he chuckled.

  ‘Smells good, whatever it is. Sort of Moroccan?’

  ‘Mmm. A tagine. I found all the ingredients in the cupboard—I hope you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind. Use what you like. There doesn’t look very much there, have you done enough for us all?’

  ‘Oh. I’m feeding the children earlier. This is just for you.’

  She caught his frown out of the corner of her eye. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll eat with the children—’

  ‘Why?’

  She turned and looked at him, not knowing what her role was any longer, not sure what he expected of her.

  So she said so, and his brow pleated in a frown.

  ‘I thought…I don’t know. We seem to have all eaten together since Christmas Day. Breakfast, lunch, variation on a theme of turkey—I rather thought that was the way it was now.’

  ‘But I’m supposed to be looking after you, helping you with the things you can’t do, cooking for you—that’s all.’

  ‘Does that mean you can’t eat with me?’

  ‘Well…no, of course not, but I thought you might want to be alone—’

  ‘No,’ he said emphatically. ‘Eat with me—please? Or, if there isn’t enough, do something else—throw a bit more turkey in, or make a starter, but—no, I don’t want to eat alone. And anyway, I thought we could talk about the job.’

  The job. Of course. Nothing to do with wanting her company—and she shouldn’t want him to, shouldn’t be contemplating intimate little dinners à deux, or cosy drinks by the fire with the lights off and only the flickering flames to see by.

  But that was what they ended up doing that evening, eating alone together after the children were in bed, opening a bottle of wine and then carrying the rest of it through to the drawing room, because they’d been in there during the day with Kate and Megan, doing a jigsaw by the fire while Thomas alternately slept or tried to haul himself up and eat the pieces.

  Jake threw another log on, sat down at one end of the sofa at right angles to the fireplace and patted the seat beside him. ‘Come and sit with me and talk,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some figures for you.’

  And so she sat, hitching her feet up under her bottom and turning half towards him, studying him over her wine glass. ‘Figures?’

  He told her what he was prepared to pay, and she blinked. ‘That’s generous,’ she said, and he shrugged.

  ‘I expect a lot for my money.’

  ‘And if I can’t deliver?’ she said with a shiver of dread. She hated to miss deadlines, hated letting people down, but—‘What if the children are sick, or Thomas won’t sleep—what then?’

  He shrugged. ‘Then I expect you to let me know, to do the best you can and be upfront with me. Don’t tell me you’re doing it if you can’t. Tell me if you’ve got a problem and I’ll find another way round it. It’s not impossible. We do it all the time. I’m not asking for an unbreakable commitment, just a promise to do your best to fulfil your side of the bargain. That’s all any of us can ever do.’

  ‘And if you don’t think my work’s up to scratch?’

  ‘I know it will be. I know Barry Green. I’ve phoned him. He’s gutted he had to let you down, but he’s made some investments that have collapsed and it’s not his fault. He really didn’t have the money to pay you. In fact, he was relieved that I was going to be able to give you a job because he’s been feeling really guilty. So—all I need to know is, will you take the job or do I need to look for someone else?’

  Still she hesitated. So many reasons to take it—and so many not to.

  ‘You don’t have to deal with me, if that’s what’s troubling you,’ he said softly. ‘If you’re worried about it all getting a bit too cosy, you can deal with Kate or my contracts manager. And it doesn’t have to be for ever. If something better comes along, you can go. And Judith only wants a career break, she hasn’t said she’s stopping for ever—well, not yet. So it’s only for the foreseeable future.’

  He was making it so easy to say yes, so hard to say no. And the silly thing was, she didn’t want to say no, but she was still afraid of getting involved. But she could deal with Kate, he said. That would be all right. Less complicated.

  And so she nodded, her heart pounding as she said, ‘Yes. OK. I’ll take it. Thank you.’

  He let out his breath on a soft huff of laughter. ‘Good. Welcome to the team,’ he said, lifting his glass and clinking it gently against hers, and she felt the smile spread over her face until it felt as if her whole body was glowing with relief.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and then as she lowered her glass, their eyes met and a breathless silence descended over them, broken only by the sharp crackling of the logs in the grate.

  Oh, Lord. She could hardly breathe. Her eyes locked with his, the heat in them searing her to her soul. He reached out and took her glass and set it down beside his, and then his fingers curled around her jaw, his thumb grazing her bottom lip, dragging softly over the moist skin, the gentle tug bringing a whimper to her throat.

  His fingertips traced her face, seeking out the fine lines around her eyes, the crease by her nose, the pulse pounding in the hollow of her throat.

  ‘Come to bed with me,’ he said softly, his voice gruff but gentle, and she felt her whole body responding to his touch, to his voice, to the need she could feel vibrating through his hand as it lay lightly against her collarbone.

  ‘Is that wise?’ she asked, with the last vestige of common sense, and gave a soft h
uff of laughter and he smiled.

  ‘Probably not,’ he said, but he stood up, holding out his hand to her and waiting, and after an endless pause she put her hand in his and let him draw her to her feet.

  Her heart was pounding as he led her upstairs, his hand warm and firm around hers, his fingers sure. He closed the door with a soft click and pressed a switch, and the lights came on, soft and low, barely enough to see by.

  ‘I’m not on the Pill,’ she said, remembering in time another reason why this was a bad idea and why the last time it had been such a bad idea, too, but he shook his head.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll take care of it. Come here.’

  And he drew her gently into his arms, folding her against his heart and just holding her for the longest time. Then she felt his warm breath against her neck, the soft touch of his hand easing the hair aside so he could press his lips to the skin, and she arched her neck, giving him access, desperate for the feel of his lips all over her body, the touch of his hand, the feel of his heart beating against hers.

  She slid her hands under his cashmere sweater, so soft, and laid them against the heated satin of his skin. Hot skin, smooth, dry, taut over bones and muscles. She ran her palms up his spine, feeling the solid columns tense, the breath jerk in his lungs.

  His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her head back, and his lips found hers, firm and yet yielding, his tongue coaxing her lips apart so that she opened for him with a tiny sound of need that brought an answering groan from low in his chest.

  She could feel his hands at her waist, but her camisole was tucked into her jeans and his fingers plucked at it, a growl of frustration erupting from his lips. ‘Too many clothes,’ he muttered. ‘I want to touch you, Amelia. I want to feel your skin against mine.’

  Her legs buckled slightly and he caught her against him. ‘I need you. This is crazy. Come to bed.’

  And, moving away from her, he stripped off his clothes—the soft jumper, which was easy, then the jeans, harder, the stud exasperating him so that she took over and helped him, her knuckles brushing the taut, hard plane of his abdomen so that he sucked his breath in with a sharp hiss and seared her with his eyes.

  They were like coals now, the slate-grey gone, banished by the inky-black of his flared pupils burning into her. The stud undone, he reached for her, peeling the sweater over her head, then the camisole, wrenching it out from her jeans with a grunt of satisfaction and then slowly sliding it up over her breasts, his eyes darkening still further as he let them linger on her.

  And she’d never felt more wanted, had never felt more beautiful. He hadn’t said a word, not a single compliment or facile remark, just the look in his eyes, which was turning her blood to rivers of fire.

  He reached for her bra, giving her a moment of unease because after three children…but he unclipped it and eased it away, and his lids fluttered briefly before his eyes met hers. ‘I need you,’ he breathed.

  ‘I need you, too. Jake, make love to me.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to,’ he said gruffly, then smiled a little off-kilter. ‘Once you’ve undone the stud on your jeans.’

  She laughed, releasing the tension that held her, and then he tugged them down once she’d undone the stud, and she stepped out of them and bent to pick them up, dragging another groan from his throat.

  ‘That was my first view of you,’ he said almost conversationally. ‘When I walked into the breakfast room and you bent over to pick something off the table.’ His hand stroked over her bottom, catching her hip with his fingertips and easing her back against his groin. She straightened up and saw their reflection in a mirror, his hand curled around her hip, his fingertips toying with the hem of her little lace shorts—the ones Kate had given her for Christmas.

  Breathlessly she watched as his hand slid round, his fingers inside the edge tangling with the soft, damp curls and bringing a tiny gasp to her lips. He rocked against her, hard and solid and urgent, and she could see the tension in his face, the taut jaw, the parted lips, the dark, burning eyes.

  His other arm was round her waist, the cast holding her firmly against him, the fingertips trailing over her skin.

  And she couldn’t play any more, she couldn’t wait, couldn’t hold on another moment. She needed him. She’d needed him all her life, and she didn’t want to waste another second.

  She turned in his arms, sliding her hands down inside his jeans and boxers, pushing them down just far enough, and he lifted her with one arm and carried her to the bed, dropping her on the edge and stripping away the scrap of lace before rummaging in the bedside table.

  ‘Damn, can you help me? I can’t do this with one hand,’ he growled, and she took over, her fingers shaking as she touched him so intimately for the first time. His breath hissed in sharply, and then he paused, dragging in a ragged breath, his eyes closed, slowing his breathing until finally he opened his eyes and stared down at her body.

  ‘Jake, please,’ she breathed, and with a tortured sigh he went into her arms.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She laughed softly. ‘I don’t know. I’ll tell you in a minute,’ she said, and he propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at her.

  ‘You’ve got glitter in your hair,’ she murmured, reaching up to touch it and testing the soft, silky strands between her fingers.

  ‘Mmm. That would be your daughter,’ he said, laughter in his voice. ‘She thought it would be funny to sprinkle it on me—apparently it’s fairy dust. It’s going to make me rich.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’ll be handy,’ she said with a chuckle.

  He smiled at the irony. ‘Do you have any idea how lovely you are?’ he murmured, the fingertips of his left hand trailing slowly over her breasts. He brushed the knuckles over her nipple and it peaked for him obligingly, so he bent and took it in his mouth, suckling it hard and making her gasp.

  ‘How is it I’ve fed three babies and yet that’s so erotic?’ she asked in wonder.

  ‘I don’t know. How about the other one?’ he asked, bending over it. ‘We ought to be fair and do a proper survey of both, just in case.’

  ‘Idiot,’ she said, but then his mouth closed over her and she forgot to speak, forgot her name almost—and forgot the reason why this was such a dangerous idea, such a silly thing to do as she gave herself up once more to the touch of his hands, the warmth of his lips, the solid, masculine body that could drive her to madness…

  For the next week, while the office was still closed and the housekeeper was on her annual leave, they fell into a routine.

  In the morning they had breakfast together, and then after they’d walked the dog and Thomas was back in his cot for his nap, Jake would go over to the office and she’d work on the laptop in the playroom upstairs while the children were amusing themselves, something they were very good at and which she encouraged.

  And then Jake would come back and they’d have lunch, and Thomas would nap again, and when he woke they’d have a swim while Jake worked again, and then she’d cook supper for all of them and after the children were in bed she’d fit in another couple of hours before he’d come and shut down her laptop, give her a glass of wine and then take her up to bed.

  She didn’t sleep with him, because of the children, but every night she went upstairs with him and he made love to her, slowly, tenderly, until her nerves were stretched to breaking point and she was pleading with him to end it.

  But it couldn’t go on like this, and they both knew it.

  ‘I need to find a house,’ she said, as they were standing in the attic on New Year’s Eve watching the fireworks in the distance at midnight. ‘New Year, new start. And now I’ve got a job, I can contact the agents and see what they’ve got—’

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ he said quietly. ‘You could stay—you and the children. Move in properly.’

  ‘Live with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Jake, I can’t,’ she said, feeling the fear close in
round her. ‘I can’t put us in anyone else’s hands, ever again. I can’t do that to myself, never mind my children. They’ve been through enough, and I can’t ask it of them. I can’t—’ She broke off and shook her head again. ‘I just can’t. I’m sorry. Anyway, it’s really sweet of you, but you don’t mean it—’

  ‘Sweet?’ he said, his voice stunned. ‘There’s nothing sweet about it, Amelia. I want you. I need you. And I thought…hell, we were getting on so well.’

  ‘We are—but that doesn’t mean I can give up my independence, Jake—or theirs. I thought you understood that. I swore I’d never let another man have that much power over me.’

  ‘How do I have power over you? You’d be sharing my life. I’d have no more power over you than you’d have over me.’

  ‘But you would, because it’s your house, and my only money is from you, and—it’s called having all your eggs in one basket. Not a good idea.’

  ‘It’s OK if it’s the right basket. Most of us do that, emotionally, at least, if not financially. Get another job if that’s what’s worrying you, although I have to say I’d be extremely reluctant to lose you. Don’t walk away just because there’s a chance it may not be right, because there’s a much bigger chance, from where I’m standing, that it is right.’

  ‘And how do I know? How do I know if it’s right, Jake?’

  He cradled her shoulders in his hands and met her eyes searchingly. ‘You have faith,’ he said softly. ‘You have faith, and you give it your best shot, and if you’re lucky, and you work at it, then all’s well.’

  ‘And if it’s not? If we find out it’s no good, that we aren’t the people we thought we were?’

  He sighed and dropped his hands. ‘OK. It’s too soon, I’m rushing you. But think about it. Don’t dismiss it. Get somewhere else to live, and give us time. We can still see each other, have dinner, take the kids out—’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want the kids coming to think of you as part of their life. This is different, we’re staying here for a short time, you’re doing us a favour. But if we move in properly, if it all gets too cosy and then it goes wrong—bang! Another rug out from under their feet. And I can’t do it. I’m sorry.’