Pregnant with the Boss's Baby

by Sue MacKay

  ‘Right.’ Those blue eyes locked on hers, and this time the electricity that often flowed between them was quiet. More of an accepting, compliant force. But he’d have his own agenda. Everyone did. While talking about her training to become a doctor, he’d mentioned his plans for the coming years, starting with an application he’d sent in for a position in an emergency department in Sydney Hospital.

  Had he heard whether he’d got the job? She tensed. Where would that leave her and the baby? Free to raise her child as she chose? Or would he demand she follow him across the Tasman? If Conor turned out to be as manipulative as Peter had then she wished him to Siberia. Neither would she be following. Her exhausted muscles contracted some more. There was a lot to learn about this man before she could begin to make any plans for her and baby’s future.

  ‘Easy does it,’ Conor murmured above her. ‘Relax. We can put off in-depth and meaningful conversations for another day.’

  Sure thing. She tried to pull out of those compelling arms. Conor simply tightened his hold, keeping her spread against him. Giving in, she went with the moment, absorbed his strength, his warmth, him.

  Who knew how long they stood there, holding one another? All Tamara understood was that she didn’t want to move ever again. She’d temporarily found her safe place in Conor’s arms, and to pull away would sever whatever had brought them together. To move apart would bring back all the doubts and questions, would waken her up to the reality that she didn’t know her baby’s father well enough to put their needs in his hands. Or to trust him to do what was right for her. At the moment she was beyond leaving his arms, no matter what the consequences.

  Finally Conor lifted his head and tilted it back to look down into her eyes. ‘I’ve ordered Thai. It should arrive any minute. I had to make sure you ate something more than a piece of toast.’

  ‘How’d you know that’s what I’d have?’

  ‘It was a guess. Might know you better than you think.’ He smiled, a slow cautious lifting of those clever lips. ‘Can I take a shower before we eat?’

  ‘Help yourself.’ Or should she be kicking him out? She was still edgy about him being here.

  Conor dropped his arms. ‘Thanks, Tam.’

  ‘Don’t call me Tam.’ It was an automatic response. She didn’t deserve her dad’s pet name any more.

  His eyes widened but all he asked was, ‘Where’s the bathroom?’

  ‘In the interests of saving you what little energy you’ve probably got left, follow me.’ As if her flat needed a map. ‘Here. Help yourself to towels under the basin. I’ll pull on some proper clothes and warm the oven for the Thai so you don’t have to rush.’

  Conor ran his knuckles lightly over her cheek. ‘Stay like you are. I’m only here for a short while and you’ll be wanting to head to bed as soon as I’ve gone.’

  Bed and Conor in the same thought should’ve cranked up her desire levels. They didn’t. Right now she was all out of anything but the need to eat and sleep. And by the exhaustion rippling off Conor he wasn’t any keener to get naked with her either. ‘Okay.’ Anyway, something as intimate as sex wasn’t happening while they were grappling with this new situation. She couldn’t afford to let him under her radar. The more caring and concerned he was for her the more worried she was he might want to take something from her.

  Ding-dong. Her doorbell didn’t ring as often in a week as it had tonight.

  ‘I’ll get that. Take your time. There’s plenty of hot water.’ She closed the bathroom door before Conor said anything that could possibly change her mind and start to stir up her hormones. If he began peeling his clothes off in front of her, well... Risky, given how comfortable she was feeling with him. Almost as if she’d take a step off the edge to follow him. Almost. Went to show the state of her brain. Messy. Chaotic. In need of sleep.

  ‘This green curry is delicious,’ Tamara told Conor twenty minutes later as they lounged in her sitting room, laden plates on their knees. Hardly fine dining but very cosy. Her mother would have kittens if she saw her daughter like this in front of a man, especially as she was wearing a bathrobe that had seen better days a long time ago.

  But you walked away from me, Mum, so your opinion doesn’t count.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you liked spicy food so I went with middling chilli.’

  ‘It’s yummy.’ Her taste buds were in overdrive and even her unreliable stomach was happy, though usually it was used to hot curry.

  ‘Glad you like it.’ Conor shuffled further back in the armchair he’d snagged earlier, pretending he wasn’t yawning and all the while looking exhausted.

  Then she thought of the cosy factor and the happiness retreated a step. Doing cosy with Conor when they had massive issues lying between them did not make sense. Even without the baby, cosy wasn’t an option for her. Cosy would suck her in and leave her wide open for Conor to make everything go his way. At the moment she knew so little about him. Being sexually attracted to him didn’t mean anything in this situation. She needed to get up to speed, and fast. Like checking the legal process for keeping her baby in New Zealand if he wanted to take it home to Ireland any time. Forewarned was forearmed. Protecting herself. Something she hadn’t known to do with Peter. ‘When you’re not at work, what do you do with your time?’

  His head tipped back and he blinked. Not expecting any questions? ‘I run quite a lot, do the occasional half-marathon. Socialise, go fishing with Mac, visit places within easy driving distance.’

  ‘Playing the tourist? I can’t see you following the umbrella-waving guide and listening to a taped explanation about the geysers in Rotorua or the Hole in the Rock up north.’

  His alluring mouth lifted in a wry smile. ‘I am a visitor to this country. I might be working but I also want to see some of the sights. There’s so much that’s stunning. I could spend months just travelling the length and breadth of both islands.’

  ‘Why do you want to go to Australia, then?’ Or would that now be on hold?

  Conor sat up straighter, stared at some place behind her. ‘It’s time to move on. Staying in one place too long often leads to complications.’ Definitely holding back. ‘Okay, make that it was time to move on. Everything’s up in the air since your announcement. Apart from becoming a father.’

  ‘You intend returning home some time?’ Would he expect her to follow wherever he decided to go? Did she want to?

  ‘Dublin is where I grew up, where all my family live. Dublin is who I am—what I am.’ Was it her imagination or had his accent thickened?

  ‘If that’s how you feel, why leave in the first place?’ What would it be like to live in Dublin? There was nothing to keep her in Auckland. On a positive note, there’d be no interfering television crews to bug her in Ireland.

  He’d been yawning when she’d asked that question, but instantly his mouth slammed shut. The relaxed mood had gone in a blink.

  When he didn’t answer she gave him a break and changed the subject. ‘Maybe you should stop running if it makes you so tired.’

  ‘Never.’ One word, spoken firmly, quietly, but full of don’t go there.

  It was all too much. They were going round in circles, and she didn’t have the energy to try to figure it all out. Her eyes were itchy with tiredness, her head heavy and her body past ready for sleep. So she let it go. A voice in the back of her head was saying, Look what happened last time you didn’t ask the questions. Not that she’d have got the right answers from Peter. Worry fired up. She bit down on it. Not tonight. ‘You want a hot drink before you go home?’

  He shook his head, the tightness in his shoulders easing again. ‘You’re right. I need to head away, give you some space. I’ve seen you’re okay.’ But he made no effort to move. ‘It’ll be time to get up and go to work soon enough.’

  ‘Do you have to remind me?’ Tamara hauled herself upright.
‘I’m having some camomile tea.’

  Conor’s eyes locked on hers, causing her to hesitate.

  Here we go. He’s going to say something about the baby, and what we’re going to do about it.

  Her defences were rising and she made ready to protect herself.

  ‘Thanks for this interlude.’

  Thanks in full Irish lilt was not like thanks in Kiwi-speak. It came with warmth and intrigue and passion. It sent funny tingly sensations down her legs, along her arms. It said things she was certain Conor did not intend. And she had not expected. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Exactly. You could’ve started in on me about the baby, but instead you’ve been quiet and thoughtful.’

  ‘I’m tired too.’ Her breath stopped in her throat as she waited for the other shoe to fall.

  ‘Exhaustion’s puffing off you in clouds. It already was earlier in ED, which is why I had to make sure you’d got home safely and were looking after yourself.’ Those lips twitched. ‘After bad days at work I usually pace back and forth across my tiny apartment for hours on end. Tonight I don’t feel wired, just shattered, yet okay with knowing I did everything I could for those kids, that I couldn’t have done any more.’

  ‘You’re an amazing emergency specialist, always going the extra distance for your patients.’

  Surprise lifted his thick eyebrows. ‘But I never stop questioning myself, wondering what else I could’ve done. It’s why I became an ED specialist in the first place. To save people.’ Conor’s hands tensed, his whole body winding tight. His mouth was flat as he dragged in air, then expelled it immediately. Those sunny summer eyes turned darker than an Auckland overcast day.

  There was something else going on in his head that she had no line to.

  Conor needed a hug.

  Like that would solve anything. More likely he’d push her away. Wise man. Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her robe, she turned for the kitchen and that tea, trying to ignore the painful squeeze her heart was giving.

  They’d once shared a great night together that she’d enjoyed more than she’d have thought possible. Probably because she’d wanted nothing else from him than some fun. But that was it. End of. Except there was now a baby lying between them. There was no room for her heart to have its say.

  Listening to her inner voice would undo all the effort she’d made over the last two years to get back on track. It’d also take more courage than she possessed, and would mean a breakdown of all the strictures she’d placed on herself to keep safe.

  ‘Tamara.’ Conor leaned against the doorjamb, watching her watch the kettle. He inhaled, sighed out the breath. ‘Thanks. Again.’

  ‘No problem.’ Please go. Before she said something she regretted.

  In a low, rolling version of that bone-melting accent Conor said, ‘Don’t be afraid to show me your true feelings or thoughts.’

  Slowly turning, she stared at him, her heart now clunking heavily against her ribs. ‘I’m not,’ she muttered, and had to suffer the disbelief in his eyes. Fair cop. ‘Okay, I’ve learned that showing my feelings about anything usually has severe repercussions.’ When his mouth opened to spill words—a question?—she rushed in to cut him off. ‘Not tonight.’ Probably never. ‘We’re both in need of sleep, not long, convoluted conversations.’

  Damn, but her head hurt. A steady throb pounded behind her eyes, matching her heart. There was only one cure. Bed. Alone. So she needed to drink her tea to help obtain that oblivion, and see Conor out the front door before hitting the sack. Not necessarily in that order either.

  Why was the water taking for ever to boil?

  * * *

  Conor’s eyelids were weighed down as he tried to open his eyes. ‘Where the hell am I?’

  He scoped the room, semi-lit from the hallway light, saw the cream leather armchairs and sighed. Tamara’s place. Now he could feel that leather beneath his backside where he was sprawled along the matching couch. With a blanket covering him. When had Tamara put that there? Had to be her. There’d been no thought of him staying when they’d finished their meal and dumped the plates in the sink. No, he hadn’t even done that much tidying up. She’d gone to make herself tea and he couldn’t remember another thing after that. Except the ease with which he’d shifted from the chair to the couch and laid his head on a cushion.

  The ease that had settled over him almost the moment he’d walked through Tamara’s front door, despite his misgivings about coming here when they had a massive problem to deal with.

  Careful. He’d be taking risks soon. Risks he’d spent the last fourteen years fighting. Risks that had had him finally fleeing Ireland and family and heart-aching despair. He couldn’t imagine falling in love and getting married, having children. Children who might inherit his cardiac problem. A wife who could find herself bringing up their children alone because the big one had got him.

  Conor sat up. Threw the blanket aside. Falling in love would mean breaking the rules that ran his life, kept everyone safe. So it wasn’t happening.

  A vision of Tamara looking gorgeous in her thick, faded navy-coloured robe with her dark blonde hair gone wild from her shower. Part of his brain had been functioning correctly when it had kept him from following through on the desire that had kicked up at the sight of her. It would’ve been the worst move possible, and there’d have been no thanks from Tam.

  Don’t call her that. The shortened version of Tamara disturbed her, for reasons he knew nothing about. And wanted to know. No, he mustn’t. Knowing meant caring, meant sharing. But to him she was Tam. He just had to keep that to himself.

  Time he was out of there. He needed to go home to his randomly put-together collection of furniture that was more practical than inviting; a home that spoke of moving on, not settling down.

  Nothing like this warm and welcoming nest created with what he suspected were top-of-the-range furnishings. Not that he knew a lot about these things but this home seemed classy. That sideboard made of polished wood that he didn’t recognise was stunning in its simplicity. In fact, everything was understated in a grand way. Was this why she didn’t have a lot of spare money to go to university with? A shopaholic gone wild? If so, only when it came to her home. No money was wasted on clothes.

  Who are you, Tamara Washington?

  Deep down he knew he was never going to find out. His teeth ground as he leapt up to stretch the kinks from his body. He wanted to learn everything about her. Which would bring a load of problems best left well alone. It’d be easy to search on the web, but he didn’t feel comfortable with that. That’d be a shallow act, and if Tamara couldn’t find it in herself to tell him then best he left it alone.

  A carved black clock with a gold face that had to be many decades old chimed once. Picking up his shoes, he made for the front door. Was Tamara all right? Sound asleep? Or was being overtired keeping her wide awake? He turned the other way.

  At her bedroom door Conor stumbled. His lungs stalled and his heart slowed. Curled up on her side, her hands tucked under her chin, Tamara was sound asleep—and more beautiful than ever. Gone was that wariness with which she regarded the world, replaced with a gentleness and relief he’d not seen before. Relief because she was hiding from the world? Because she believed no one could get to her while she slept? Didn’t she know she was at her most vulnerable when comatose?

  His heart hammered in his chest. Excited or afraid? Didn’t matter. He had to go home for what was left of the night. All it would take was to haul his tail down the hall and out the door to his car.

  But he wasn’t that strong. ‘What’s your history, Tam?’ he whispered as he leaned down to lift an errant curl from her forehead. She approached people as though they were about to take something from her. Everyone except patients. They only needed what she was prepared to give.

  As Conor reached to switch
off the bedside lamp, she stirred. He held his breath, wishing her asleep. They both needed to get some hours’ slumber before facing another day in the department.

  Her eyes opened slowly. ‘Conor?’ His name slipped over her lips like melted chocolate, tantalising his taste buds and sending longing for more through his body, straight to his manhood.

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ he whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  Before I can’t control myself and haul you into my arms to kiss you senseless.

  Because he wouldn’t want to stop at kissing.

  She snuggled her pillow around her neck. It was an innocent move and it stabbed him deeply.

  And had him aiming for the front door.

  Everything he’d been denying himself for many years was coming back to taunt him.

  And those reasons weren’t holding up as strongly as they usually did.

  Get out of here. Fast.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TAMARA WOKE SLOWLY, fighting her way through a haze. That had been the best sleep she’d had in weeks. No nightmares. No tears. Just plain old sleep.

  Unwinding her body from its curled-up state, she pushed a foot across the bed, seeking Conor. Came up with empty space. Like why wouldn’t she? Conor had not stayed the night.

  For one, she hadn’t wanted him to.

  For two, he wouldn’t have wanted to.

  Three, she’d have been setting herself up for a crash.

  Disappointment struck. She liked Conor Maguire. More than liked him. Charming, superb in bed, top-notch ED specialist, lots of fun at appropriate times. Hardly a résumé for the position of dad and partner in raising their child. But that shoe could fit her foot too. Her mother hadn’t exactly set her up for this role.

  So, like Conor or not, she had to keep him at a distance. At least until they’d had a serious talk about the baby. Several serious talks in which baby came first every time. Which meant keeping her heart uninvolved. Trusting that particular organ had once before led to monumental trouble with huge consequences affecting more people than herself. She would never subject her child to anything close to the destruction that falling in love with Peter had yielded.