A Baby on Her Christmas List

by Louisa George

  And he’d kissed her back—without any encouragement. What happened to reining in his libido, like any other decent man would? But something a lot like a mind meld had happened, pushing him to continue, and he’d been unable to stop.

  Her lips were a little swollen, her good eye misty, hair messy, as if she’d just scrambled out of bed. She looked sexier than anyone he’d ever seen. Sexy and very off limits.

  Actually, sexy, off limits and torn. ‘Really, Liam, I think you should go.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll come back and finish this off another time.’ He went to get his T-shirt, shook off some of the debris stuck to it before pulling it over his head. ‘I should order you a pizza or something. You need to eat. Regularly and properly.’

  ‘I can manage a phone quite well.’ Waving her hand in front of her, she gave him a brief smile that was laced with hurt. ‘Please, just go. You’re officially off the hook. Go, and let me die a thousand embarrassed deaths in peace.’

  He didn’t know what was running through her mind, but he’d take a big guess that it wasn’t him actually agreeing with her and leaving. The last thing she needed right now was uncertainty. But everything was messed up and muddied; there he was tangling her pregnancy with his feelings. He was having a hard time separating the baby issue from his attraction to Georgie. If they didn’t get everything out in the open, this would be hanging over them for ever. ‘But shouldn’t we talk about what just happened?’

  ‘No. That’s not going to get us anywhere but deeper in trouble. It’s pretty clear from your face that you’re shocked. Please. Please. Just go.’

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow to help you.’

  ‘Off the hook, I said. I can manage. Please...’ She was biting her bottom lip and looking so regretful that he did her bidding. She didn’t want him around. And the truth was he didn’t much feel like staying when his head and his body were so much at odds and he was at risk of making things worse. Or, even more catastrophic in the long run, helping to make her feel better in the only way he wanted to right now, which would be a one-way ticket to the far side of stupid.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MORTIFIED. JUST DOWNRIGHT mortified. Georgie was surprised her cheeks hadn’t burnt a hole right through her pillow. Twelve hours later and she was still...utterly mortified. Half peering, half feeling her way around her house, she went downstairs to the kitchen, finished wet dusting all the surfaces, popped the kettle on and contemplated pushing two pieces of wholegrain bread into the toaster. Then gave up on the idea. Ruining friendships had sent her appetite running and hiding along with her pride.

  And, okay, so he’d kissed her back, and appeared to have been enjoying it, but the moment he’d cut loose and let her go she’d seen doubt and fear and confusion run across those eyes. Eyes that had turned, once again, a darker shade of navy.

  But, man, he’d tasted so good. Felt so good. Until the moment he’d jerked away and she’d wished she could have been swallowed up in the house’s perennial dust cloud and whirled back to five minutes previously. Before the kiss that had probably, finally, broken their friendship.

  And it was all her fault. She’d pushed him in one direction to give her his sperm, acknowledged he didn’t want to go there at all but had done it anyway, and then had pulled him to her in a selfish moment of unwarranted and uninhibited need. Putting her head in her hands, she leaned against the grey kitchen bench, dusty again already, and groaned. Stupid. Stupid.

  God knew where they’d go from here.

  The doorbell rang quick and sharp and then Liam was calling out, and then standing in her lounge, muscled arms filled with brushes and buckets and tools, which he put on the floor in the corner of the room.

  ‘Morning.’ He stopped short and frowned, and her stomach contracted. ‘Holy cow, you look awful.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch. So do you. Why don’t you come right in and make yourself at home?’ She tried to make her voice sound nonchalant instead of shaky, but it all just came out weird and high-pitched. She was a little bit relieved to see that he looked like he’d just finished night duty—tired, paler and shadowed with a perfectly stubbled jaw. Which inevitably made her stomach contract again, but this time for a totally different reason.

  She peered up at him, trying to measure his mood while at the same time trying to quell the nausea in the pit of her stomach. And she knew it was nothing to do with her morning sickness and everything to do with kissing her oldest mate—and even now, despite the mortification, wanting to do it again. The hot spots on her cheeks reappeared. ‘I thought I said you didn’t have to come and help. I know you have little time off as it is without bothering about me. I can manage fine.’

  ‘And leave you here knowing what disaster was lurking behind this door? No way. No doubt if I left you in here with a hammer for any length of time you’d be completely blind and crippled within the hour. So basically I’m doing my colleagues at A and E a favour by keeping you out of their hair.’ He made no effort to hide his smile. ‘I thought we should go out for a while first, take a walk to the French market. Get out of this dust bowl and clear your lungs.’ AKA not wanting to be in a confined space with her. She understood, loud and clear. ‘You don’t need an asthma attack added to your medical history.’

  ‘My lungs are perfectly clear, thank you.’ Unlike my head, she thought, which was filled with grimy confusion. ‘The dust settles downwards all over the surfaces rather than floating upwards to my bedroom.’ And at the mere mention of where she slept, usually near-naked, she had an unwelcome image of him also naked, in her sheets. Okay, so not unwelcome...in fact, very welcome indeed. Just unrealistic. And never going to happen. ‘So...er...how are you? Good sleep?’

  And maybe it was the mention of her bed that did funny things to him too, because all of a sudden his bravado slipped, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and his gaze was not at her, but beyond, or around, or anywhere else but meeting her eyes. Eye.

  An awkward unspoken tension hovered between them as he shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I’m fine. How are you feeling? How’s the eye? Using the drops as prescribed?’

  ‘Yes, Dr MacAllister.’ She patted the new patch gently, knowing that, added to the sleepless eye bags and the uncombed hair, it gave her a pathetically ill look. Still, having managed perfectly well for twenty-eight years pretty much on her own, she was far from fragile, but it did feel nice to have someone ask how she was feeling, even if it was just to avoid talking about the kiss or what the heck they should do now. ‘The prickly headache’s gone. I feel okay, a little sore, but raring to get going in here.’

  ‘Well, first brioche and espresso are calling. Then you can go and do whatever you want to do for the day and leave me in peace to get this place sorted. I’ve got more stuff in the car—plaster, rollers, cornices, skirting, protective goggles and face masks. It’ll keep me busy for a few...’ His fingers speared his hair as he looked at the room, the magnitude of the utter mess they’d made clearly dawning. And not just the house. She’d made a mess of everything. ‘Weeks.’

  And he was also playing the let’s not talk about it game. She could do that too. And perhaps, by the time they’d got to the market normality would be restored and her appetite would come out of hiding. ‘Okay. Well, I’ll just drag a brush through my hair and grab a jumper. Give me a minute or two.’

  The sky was a brilliant cloudless cobalt blue as they strode down the hill, past rows of perfectly maintained colonial-style houses, just like hers was going to be...possibly next millennium. Luckily the market wasn’t far so they didn’t have too many moments of difficult silence to fill before they got there.

  They walked through the car park to the stalls dotted around the forecourt of a large open-fronted building selling everything French. Colourful Provençale earthenware sat next to tins of foie gras and jars of bright thick jams; soft linens and dainty sprigs of lavender graced traditional wooden dressers; blue and white chequered tablecloths covered a hotchpotch of mismatched table
s. People sat around, chatting and eating and laughing.

  A stack of antique furniture sat in one corner of the building, rickety tables and chairs, kitchen and bedroom heirloom pieces. Georgie spied a quaint rocking bassinet in need of a little care and attention, adorned with the softest cream-coloured blankets and the cutest coverlets, and her heart did a little jig. It was perfect. But, as with most things here, it was also too far out of her price bracket.

  She sighed, dragging herself away from such beautiful things. Buying would have to happen when she could afford it, not when it took her fancy. Liam noticed her gaze drift back to the bassinet but, then, he would. Annoyingly, he knew her through and through. Her heart jig went into a serious funeral dirge. It seemed everything was an issue between them these days. He nodded at the bassinet. ‘Planning ahead?’

  ‘Window shopping. At least that’s free. I have to get my priorities straight. Firstly, I have to provide a decent place to sleep. Then I have to provide something to sleep in.’

  ‘Babies cost a lot, eh? So much to think about, it’s mind-blowing.’ His forehead crinkled as he frowned. He looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind and tugged her to the juice bar instead. ‘Okay, now you’re going to have a fresh juice. Then we’ll get a decent coffee and something to eat.’

  ‘But—’

  He placed a gentle palm against the small of her back and manoeuvred her towards the juice stall. ‘No buts. And we’re going to be the same as we always are when we come here. We’re going to ooh at the cheese and hold our noses at the smell. And buy way too much and not eat it all. And then we’ll have to fumigate your kitchen-diner-lounge room thing, whatever you want to call it.’

  ‘I call it my living area, and it’s going to be fabulous. But unfortunately I’m not going to eat any unprocessed soft cheese there or anywhere else. Along with alcohol, pâté and most kinds of processed meat that I love, stinky cheese is out for a while. Remember?’ She patted her stomach. Damn the man, she was going to mention her pregnancy. It was part of her. Soon it would be most of her, plumping her out like a huge fat cushion. And then there’d be no denying it. Whether he liked it or not.

  To her surprise, he grinned.

  ‘Okay, so you’re going to look at the cheese section and be downright miserable. Walk straight past the pâté, giving it a cold hard stare. Cast eye-daggers on that devilish salami and jambon. And then order a double helping of pain au chocolat and a chocolat chaud with lashings of cream, and still wallow in what you can’t have instead of what you’ve got. Which, in my book, is three helpings of chocolate and it’s not even ten o’clock.’

  He stopped at the juice stall and ordered a freshly squeezed OJ for himself and a ‘Brain Booster’ for her, like always.

  ‘Which is why you need this vitamin blast to counteract the sugar rush. And now we’re going to talk about what happened last night, and when we’ve stopped cringing we’re going to laugh about it. We will laugh. Eventually.’

  At her shocked face he smiled again, but this time it was softer and more tender. And she liked it that he was trying to make things normal, that he was making sure she had the right things to eat, and that she was as content as she could be under the circumstances. This was the Liam she’d grown to love. Whoa. Love?

  Platonically, yes. She loved him as any friend would love a friend. And fancied him, just a little bit. Which was understandable, because a lot of women did. He was just the type that appealed—dashing doctor with a great sense of humour and nice hands. Looking lower, she admired other parts of him too.

  Okay, if he kept on staring at her and smiling like that she could definitely fancy him a lot.

  ‘Na-ah.’ Georgie shook her head as her cheeks heated again. ‘I’m not going to talk about it, I’m just pretending it didn’t happen.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. That’s not going to work. It’s going to be the big elephant in the...market, stomping around with us for ever. So we’ll acknowledge that it happened. We’ll agree it was—’

  ‘A mistake,’ she butted in, before he could say anything else. Because that’s what it had been. A huge silly mistake.

  ‘Here you go, you two. Your usual. Beautiful day...’ The juice lady passed over large plastic cups of vividly coloured juice with perfect timing. Georgie took hers and handed Liam his. Then she wandered through the stalls, perusing the locally grown fruit and vegetables, the huge bowls of oily olives and myriad savoury dips, and feigned interest in everything apart from this conversation.

  He was by her side in a moment. On any other day she wouldn’t have paid much attention but today all her body seemed interested in was getting closer to that smell, in being near him, in having his lips on her skin again. His mouth was dangerously close to her ear. ‘I was going to say it was nice. More than nice. In fact, it was a bloody revelation. I didn’t think you’d be so...unleashed. But if you want to say it was a mistake, go ahead.’

  She twisted to see him, his eyes glinting with tease. And heat. ‘It was a mistake. And I’m so-o-o embarrassed.’

  His arm snaked across her shoulder and he wrapped her in a sort of guy-style headlock hug thing. Which shouldn’t have been remotely sexy but was the biggest turn on since her lips had touched his last night. ‘It’s okay, Geo. We can move on. It is possible.’

  ‘You think?’ Wiggling from his grip, she faced him. ‘I kissed you! In fact, I almost attacked you!’ The clatter of teacups reverberated around the space, and then ended in an abrupt silence. People stared and then turned away and pretended not to stare, which made everything ten times worse. She lowered her voice and her words came out a lot like a hiss. ‘But, then, you kiss so many women you probably didn’t even think much about it.’

  Hadn’t he? Had it been really not special? Had she not turned him on while she’d been burning up? By saying they could move on, was he trying to say that he didn’t want her? Which was what she wanted, wasn’t it? An end to these weird feelings? So why did she feel as if she’d been stabbed through the gut?

  ‘To be honest, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for the last twelve hours.’ He steered her to a table and sat her down, grinning. He was enjoying this. Well, of course he was, this was Liam, the great non-committer. ‘But what I need to know, Geo, is why?’

  ‘Well...’ If she knew that, she’d be up for a Nobel prize or something. The secrets of the universe. The chemistry of attraction. The laws of inconvenience and mortification. All started and ended with the but why? of that kiss. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered about...you know...us? What it would be like? What we would be like?’

  He shrugged his gorgeous shoulders, but a tiny muscle moved in his jaw. ‘I seem to remember you used the descriptor ick the last time we talked about this. So, honestly, it wasn’t something I imagined could happen. Then, suddenly...wham.’

  ‘I attacked you. I did—do—think it’s an ick idea. But, then, for some reason last night I felt really connected to you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Stop apologising. Never apologise for kissing like that.’ The waitress brought their order and he took a bite from his croque monsieur, which oozed melted cheese over the plate and looked almost as delicious as the man sinking his teeth into it. He swallowed and took a sip of espresso. ‘Do you think it’s because of the baby? Is this all because I’m the father? Because, frankly, you never gave me any reason to think you liked me...in that way. And, yes, we’re going to keep talking about it like we talk about everything, so take your hands away from your face.’

  ‘No. Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s all become too complicated. I felt weird when I saw you that day in the bar after you came back from Pakistan. Something was different. You seemed different, I felt different. Maybe it was the fertility drugs.’ But that was a lame excuse. Lots of women took them and didn’t go around kissing inappropriately. She finally had the courage to look up at him. Yes, something was still very definitely different. The feeling hadn’t gone, it had got worse. ‘Anyhoo, I got it out of my
system last night, and we both know that nothing can happen, don’t we...?’

  ‘Absolutely. Understood.’

  What she wanted him to say she didn’t know. Except, possibly, that he wanted to do it again and again. That he fancied her in just the same way. Okay, she wanted the whole dang fairytale—but Liam had never been much of a Prince Charming, and she definitely didn’t suit the Cinderella role, apart from the having no money bit. In that part she was absolutely typecast.

  Placing his cup slowly into the white bone china saucer, Liam looked like he was carefully choosing the right words. ‘We are in no state to start anything. Imagine if we did the sex thing and then fell out. Imagine if we took anything any further. Me the playboy and you pregnant and vulnerable. You need to think of the baby.’

  ‘So I don’t get to have a sex life? Women can have sex when they’re pregnant. Numpty.’ Her eyes almost pinging out of her head, she picked up her fork and pointed it at him. ‘And I am not vulnerable. Dare to say that again and I’ll fork you to death.’

  ‘No, never. Please. Anything but that.’ His voice rose a teasing octave. Then got serious. ‘You are one of the strongest people I’ve met. It was the wrong choice of words. Your situation makes you vulnerable. But you need someone who’ll stick around. Someone who—’

  ‘Wants me?’ She closed her eyes wishing to hell she hadn’t said that. It sounded so needy, and she wasn’t. Just uncertain. And frustrated. Because she wanted to kiss him, she wanted to take him to her bed and tangle in the sheets, like she’d imagined. She wanted him...in a way she hadn’t known could be possible. But he didn’t want her. And he was trying so hard to put it gently and nicely and in a friendly way. It was humiliating that he even thought she needed the gentle treatment.

  A sharp twist of pain radiated through her solar plexus. Even her own mother hadn’t wanted her and had left her in a box on steps outside a church hall with nothing except a small cream woollen blanket and the clothes she’d been wearing. No one had ever claimed her. And bureaucracy and mixed-up paperwork had meant she hadn’t been put up for adoption until she’d been too old, so she’d never belonged. Period. No one had ever wanted her.