by Sarah Morgan
‘You’re upset about earlier.’ With the engine off the cold immediately penetrated the car and he looked at her profile for a moment and then sighed. ‘Come on. We can talk inside.’
Hayley Hamilton, you are not talking, she reminded herself fiercely. You are not saying a word. Nothing.
She slid out of the car, took a moment to balance herself and then Patrick put his arm round her and guided her to the door. And she couldn’t pull away because she knew that any sudden movement was guaranteed to land her flat on her back on the ice.
So she endured the warmth and strength of his arm but still kept her mouth zipped shut.
Even when he closed the door on the cold Christmas night, she didn’t move her lips.
Instead, she hurried across to the dining table, which was still covered in empty plates and abandoned crackers.
‘What are you doing?’ Patrick watched as she noisily stacked plates and scooped up jokes, toys and paper hats. ‘Leave that.’
‘I’ll just take it through to the kitchen,’ she said brightly, balancing a stack of plates and walking away from him.
‘In that case, I’ll help you.’ The muscles in his shoulders flexed as he removed his coat. ‘It will be quicker if two people do it.’
‘I don’t want you to help! I’m the housekeeper. This is my job.’ She disappeared into the kitchen, hoping that he wouldn’t follow. She wanted to be left alone with the washing-up and her humiliation.
But he didn’t leave her alone. ‘You’ve also worked all day as a midwife,’ he said mildly. ‘We’ll do it together, Hayley.’
Together.
Why did he have to use that word? She was trying not to think ‘together’.
‘Fine.’ She hurried back to the table, horribly conscious that it was just the two of them in the barn—horribly conscious of the width of his shoulders and the way he kept looking in her direction.
Swiftly she gathered glasses and after several trips to the kitchen the beautiful contemporary dining area was once more clear. Patrick had turned on the Christmas tree lights and chosen a CD. A female with a sexy, smoky voice sang about love and loss and Hayley returned to the kitchen, clattering as loudly as possible to drown out the soulful notes.
‘I’ve never known you so quiet.’ He stood in the doorway, a concerned look on his face. ‘What’s wrong?’
Oh, for goodness’sake! How could he ask her that? What’s wrong?
Wasn’t it obvious?
She gritted her teeth and finished loading the dishwasher. ‘Nothing is wrong.’
‘Is this about what happened earlier?’
‘Of course not. Why would you think that?’
‘Hayley, you have no reason to feel embarrassed.’
‘Of course, no reason at all.’ Hayley crashed the door of the dishwasher shut and set it to rinse. ‘It isn’t embarrassing to proposition a man at work. It happens to people all the time.’
‘You didn’t proposition me.’ His tone was mild. ‘You thought I was propositioning you.’
‘Thanks for reminding me of the details. I’m well aware that I misread the situation, but do you mind if we don’t talk about this?’
‘And I would have been propositioning you if the wife of my closest friend hadn’t been on the point of delivering and my children hadn’t been across the corridor.’
‘I really think we should just—’ She broke off and stared at him. ‘What? What did you just say?’
‘I said I would have been propositioning you. You didn’t misread the situation, Hayley. I was worried that you were tired, that’s true. I thought you might want to hand Sally’s care over to another midwife and get some rest, that’s true as well.’ His tone was soft. ‘But I want you as much as you want me.’
‘Oh…’
‘And I’ve already missed the cut-off point for a four-minute warning, so I’m giving you about…’ he glanced at his watch ‘…three seconds.’
‘Three sec—’ The words vanished under the pressure of his mouth and Hayley moaned as his tongue traced her lips, sending shock waves of excitement through her body. She had no idea how he’d crossed the room so quickly, but as his hands slid into her hair and his mouth grew more urgent on hers, she didn’t care.
He powered her back against the table, his hands biting into her thighs as he lifted her up and lowered her onto the surface. A mug toppled and smashed on the kitchen floor, but neither of them noticed. Hayley was incapable of noticing anything except the hot burn of sexual desire in Patrick’s eyes. The fact that he wanted her so badly increased her own desperation and she gave a whimper of need and arched her hips, but he was already there, his hands unzipping her jeans and stripping them from her legs.
His breathing was uneven as he brought his mouth back down on hers, his kiss so disturbingly erotic that Hayley’s mind blanked. Heat pooled in her pelvis and she tried to shift against him, instinctively trying to relieve the delicious burning that had become her entire focus. The dangerous throb and ache became so intense that she sobbed against his mouth and he muttered something against her lips and then slid his fingers inside the elastic of her panties.
His touch was unerring, his fingers so impossibly skilled that Hayley was left in no doubt that he knew more about her body than she did. Without warning she exploded in a climax that made her cry out in shock, the sound muffled by his mouth, every contraction intensified by the fact that his fingers were deep inside her. His mouth still on hers, he gently removed his hand and Hayley was dimly aware of him altering her position slightly—and then there was a brief pause before she felt the hard probe of his erection against her hot, molten core. He entered her with a smooth, decisive thrust, the strength and power of his body robbing her of breath. And he felt so shockingly good that she arched her hips, responding to the rhythm he set. His mouth stayed hot on hers, his body virile and demanding as he slid his hand under her hips, hauling her closer still, increasing the contact that was already driving both of them wild.
Neither of them spoke—not a word was exchanged—all communication channelled through their bodies and expressed through the ragged drag of their breathing.
When he finally lost control Patrick’s hands tightened on her hips. His rhythm altered and that subtle change was sufficient to boost Hayley over the same precipitous edge until both of them were tumbling, spinning, falling through a kaleidoscope of sensations.
Hayley had long since lost track of time but eventually Patrick dragged his mouth from hers and dropped his head to her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck. ‘That was…’ His voice husky, he struggled to finish his sentence. ‘Sublime.’
She lay there, too drugged to move, her body still trembling. It was only when he shifted above her that she felt the hardness of the kitchen table pressing into her back.
Patrick registered her wince of discomfort with a wry smile of apology. He hauled her upright in a decisive movement and scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
Hayley wound her arms round his neck. ‘You’ll do yourself an injury.’ Eyeing her jeans on his kitchen floor, she wondered whether she was destined to leave clothes in every room this man inhabited.
‘You don’t weigh anything.’ He took the stairs that led to the bedrooms, pushing open the door that led to his room. As he laid her down on the bed, Hayley realised that he was still wearing his coat.
‘One of us has the dress code wrong,’ she muttered. ‘Either you’re wearing too much or I’m wearing too little.’
‘We’re both wearing too much,’ he drawled, his eyes glittering like sapphires as he shrugged off his coat and reached for the buttons of his casual shirt.
Her mouth dried. ‘Patrick—’
‘Hayley?’ The shirt went the same way as the coat and his fingers slid to the snap of his jeans.
Her eyes were on his board-flat abdomen and then he was on the bed beside her. Reaching out, he dimmed the lights and then pulled the duvet over both of them. ‘Now—where wer
e we?’
Hayley lay still in the darkness, feeling the warmth of his arms around her. He hadn’t bothered to close the blinds in the bedroom and tiny lights glowed like stars in the fir trees outside the barn. Through the thickness of the glass she could hear the dull roar of the beck as it raced down from the fells.
‘You’re very quiet.’ Patrick’s voice was low and masculine. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What makes you think there’s anything wrong?’
‘Because normally you don’t stop talking,’ he said dryly, curving her against him in a possessive movement. ‘I’ve learned that when you’re quiet, it’s time to worry.’
‘That isn’t true.’ She resisted the temptation to snuggle into him and heard him sigh.
‘Hayley, I can tell there’s something wrong. Do I have to put the lights on and interrogate you?’
‘I’m fine, Patrick, really.’
‘Why are we whispering? We’re on our own in the house. Apart from the kittens, of course, and I don’t suppose they’re interested in us.’
His words hastened the deflation of her happiness. It was like going from a slow puncture to a blowout, she thought miserably. Her emotions crashed and with it her desperate attempt to keep her feelings to herself.
Hayley shot out of the bed but his arms caught her easily and he pulled her back.
‘Leave me alone, Patrick,’ she muttered, her voice thickened by tears she desperately didn’t want to shed.
‘Hayley, now you’re really worrying me.’ His voice concerned, he flicked on the bedside lamp and shifted above her, his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘I just hate myself, that’s all.’ Hayley turned her face away from the light, aware of the tension in his powerful frame.
‘You hate yourself? For spending the night with me?’
‘Yes!’
Her confession was followed by a long silence and then she heard his slow, indrawn breath. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No.’ Her face was burning and she wished she’d stayed silent or given him a neutral response to his original question. ‘It was fine. Can we just forget it?’
His fingers slid around her face and he forced her to look at him. This time there was no trace of humour in his eyes. Just serious intent. ‘Hayley, don’t avoid this—I thought it was what you wanted. Was I wrong?’
‘No, you weren’t wrong! Of course I wanted you—that must have been pretty obvious to you from the moment I dropped my knickers on your bedroom floor the first time.’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘And I wasn’t exactly fighting you off tonight, was I? So it’s a little unfair of you to rub in the fact I can’t say no to you.’
His eyes were wary. ‘I didn’t want you to say no to me. So what’s the problem?’
‘The problem is that you only ever do this when your children aren’t around—when I turned up yesterday, or the day before yesterday or whenever it was…’ She realised that she’d lost track of the time. It must be the early hours of the morning, which meant it was no longer Christmas Day. ‘When I turned up, you looked at me with the same enthusiasm you would have shown a tax bill. Almost the first words you say to me are, “When is the baby due?” Then at the hospital you’re very remote and distant and suddenly we arrive home and just because the house is empty you turn back into a rampant sex god—’ She broke off with a moan as he covered her mouth with his, kissing her slowly and thoroughly until the fire in her pelvis flared to life again.
When he finally lifted his head she was dizzy and disorientated.
‘We need to talk,’ he said softly, curving his hand around her face. ‘You’re right—I haven’t behaved well where you’re concerned. Give me the chance to explain.’
‘You don’t need to explain.’ Hayley tried to wriggle away from him but his weight kept her still. ‘Honestly—just forget I said anything. It’s my fault, I know. Other women have one-night stands all the time and have no problem with it—I’m just built wrong.’
‘You’re built perfectly.’ There was a sardonic gleam in his eyes as his gaze lingered on her mouth and then drifted lower. ‘And I do have things to tell you. Things you deserve to know.’ He rolled away from her and sat up. ‘Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? We haven’t eaten since lunchtime.’
Hayley realised that she was starving, but she wanted to hear what he had to tell her. Was it about his ex-wife? ‘I’m not hungry.’ But her stomach chose that moment to growl in protest and she rolled her eyes as he laughed.
‘Not hungry?’ Springing from the bed, he strolled into the bathroom and emerged wearing a black robe. ‘I’ll go and put some food on a tray. I’ll be back in a minute. I’ve put the bath on. I thought your muscles might ache after all that…activity.’
Avoiding the glitter of his eyes, Hayley waited for him to leave the room and then slid out of bed and padded towards the door he’d used.
Seeing his bathroom, she felt ever so slightly faint. It was huge. Huge and super-luxurious in a cool, contemporary style, with a walk-in shower and what seemed like hundreds of tiny lights in the ceiling. But the real luxury was his bath. It was easily big enough for two. Water cascaded into the tub and mixing with the scented bubbles he must have added before he’d left the room.
As the water level rose quickly, Hayley looked at the bath longingly. Maybe a bath was a good idea.
Just a quick one.
She slid into the water and closed her eyes with a moan of pleasure.
‘I didn’t know what you wanted to eat so I made a few different things.’ Patrick’s voice came from inside the bathroom and Hayley opened her eyes with a shocked squeak.
‘What are you doing in here?’ She noticed that the tray he was carrying contained a bottle of champagne as well as a stack of thick-cut sandwiches.
There was a dull popping sound as he removed the cork from the champagne. ‘I thought this would be a good place to eat. That way we don’t get crumbs in the bed.’ He poured champagne into two glasses and handed her one. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas,’ Hayley said weakly, watching as he placed the tray next to the bath, discarded his robe and stepped into the water next to her. ‘When you suggested a bath, I didn’t know you were going to be joining me.’
‘Why not?’ He gave a slow, sexy smile and drank from his glass. ‘Have something to eat. I’m not much of a cook, as you’ve been told, but I can just about manage sandwiches. Turkey, of course. No surprise there.’
‘I love turkey sandwiches,’ she said truthfully, reaching for one and biting into it. ‘I really am starving.’
‘I’m not surprised. It was a long day. Sally and the baby are fine, by the way. I called when I was downstairs.’
‘I’m glad.’ Hayley was tense with anticipation, wondering what he was going to tell her. ‘I love your bathroom. I could move in here for the rest of my life.’
Patrick gave a faint smile. ‘My wife hated it.’ He glanced around the bathroom. ‘She thought it was too modern.’
‘Really? I think it’s gorgeous. Like being in a smart hotel. I’m waiting for you to give me a bill when I step out of the door.’ Hayley lay back against the side of the bath. ‘I feel as though I’m in a Hollywood movie.’
‘I don’t think they usually eat cold turkey sandwiches in Hollywood movies.’ Patrick watched with amusement as she devoured another sandwich and she shrugged.
‘Jet-lag always makes me hungry.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Jet-lag?’
‘Well, OK.’ She felt her cheeks redden. ‘It’s entirely possible that the sex had something to do with it—maybe—just a little.’ She watched while he put his glass down, sensing that he was deciding exactly what to tell her. ‘I wish I could be more like you. I mean, I can see you carefully planning what to say and I just can’t do that! I have all these plans to keep my thoughts to myself and then they sort of tumble out of my mouth.’
‘I’d noticed.’ He smiled at her and lifted the bottle of
champagne but she shook her head.
‘I’m already tired. If you give me any more I won’t wake up until January.’ She hesitated. ‘You don’t trust me enough to tell me, do you?’
‘It isn’t about trust,’ Patrick said evenly. ‘It’s more about not wanting to relive it, if I’m honest. You already know some of it. You know that my wife—ex-wife—left on Christmas Eve two years ago.’
‘Yes.’ But she didn’t know why. And she wanted to know why. ‘The poor children. And poor you, of course,’ she added quickly, but he shook his head.
‘No. Your first reaction was the right one. I’m a grown-up, I can look after myself, but Alfie and Posy…’ After a moment’s hesitation, he topped up his own champagne glass, watching as the bubbles rose to the surface. ‘If Carly had cared more about their feelings, she might have handled the situation differently. But she didn’t. She was angry with me and she didn’t care that they suffered.’
‘Why was she angry?’
‘Because I wasn’t who she wanted me to be.’ Patrick’s tone was devoid of emotion, his eyes strangely blank. ‘She thought she’d married a high-flying obstetrician. When I was made a consultant her words were, “Now I’ve made it.” At the time I thought she’d made a mistake and what she’d meant to say was, “Now you’ve made it.” But, no, she really did mean that. For her it was all about social status. She pictured herself walking into smart dinner parties with me—the problem is that obstetricians are probably the most unreliable guests on anyone’s list.’
‘You were always working.’
‘Of course. In fact, you could say that there was an inverse correlation between the growth of my career and the decline of my marriage. The more successful I was, the busier I became. I started to see patients from all over the country and because some of the work was challenging, I couldn’t always delegate.’ Patrick gave a humourless laugh. ‘In business, inappropriate delegation leads to lost revenue—in obstetrics it’s a dead baby or a dead mother. And that’s a no-brainer as far as I’m concerned.’