Baby's First Christmas

by Marie Ferrarella

  Sullivan almost asked what they were, but that would just lead to more conversation—personal conversation—and he didn’t want to get involved any further. He had to remember that. The less he knew about her personal life, the less entangled he would feel.

  The less guilty he would be about separating her from her son.

  Derek’s son, he amended silently. And there was nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t as if the child had been conceived during a night of lovemaking or even spontaneous heated passion. Robby was practically a test tube baby, for God’s sake.

  So why the hell did he feel as if he were the villain in some Dickens novel?

  He didn’t want to stand here any longer, mentally debating with himself. He was tired. “Maybe you’d better show me to my room.”

  Marlene picked up one of the lanterns and placed a small flashlight into her pocket. Shining the lantern on the stairs, she led the way to his room. He was withdrawing, she thought. That gave her the upper hand. She smiled to herself and relaxed.

  “I’d like to meet him sometime.” The words floated over her shoulder as she led the way up the winding staircase.

  That comment had certainly come out of nowhere. “Who?” he asked cautiously.

  She came to the landing and stepped to the side as she turned to look at him. “Your father. Robby’s grandfather.”

  Sullivan never trusted a situation where the pieces fell together too easily. “Why?”

  She raised the lantern up higher. She wanted to clearly see the expression on his face. Wariness highlighted his features. Was it so difficult for him to understand? She was looking to giving Robby as normal a life as possible.

  “Because I think that Robby should have at least one grandparent in his life. I didn’t.” Turning again, she walked down the hall to the guest room. “My father’s father was dead by the time I was born, and my grandmother lived in England. I didn’t even know she existed until she died. She mentioned us, Nicole and me, in her will.”

  “What about your mother’s parents?”

  “I have no idea.” Her voice turned formal. “My mother left when I was very young. I have no idea about her family. I think they like it that way.” She stopped at his room and opened the door. He could just about make out a bed from where he was standing. “A child should have a sense of family. A strong sense.” She looked at him pointedly.

  She wasn’t just making idle conversation. “What are you trying to tell me?” he prodded.

  They weren’t on the same wavelength, but they would be, she promised herself. It was the only solution for Robby. Sullivan had to withdraw his claim for custody.

  “Things that I don’t want to discuss out loud.” Her eyes held his. “When things are said, they can’t be unsaid.” She gestured behind her. “Here’s your room.” She took the flashlight out of her pocket and handed it to him. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” he murmured, but he doubted that it would be.

  He slept badly, tossing and turning, plagued by formless dreams that eluded him as soon as they passed through his mind. Eventually, a low, whining noise began to bore a hole through the dark fabric of his fitful sleep. It grew in volume until it penetrated his subconscious.

  Sullivan sat up in bed, listening.

  It wasn’t a dream, or the wind howling. The soft wailing was coming from the room next to his.

  The baby.

  Sullivan listened again. Robby sounded as if he were in pain.

  Rising, he felt around for the trousers he had slung over the footboard the night before. Finding them, he tugged his pants on, then searched for his shirt. It was crumpled to one side of the bed. Unless he tripped over them, he wasn’t about to hunt for his shoes. The floor wasn’t cold anyway.

  The significance of that hit him a moment later. There was light pooling under his door from the hallway. More light than could be cast by the lantern that Marlene had left on the hall table.

  He opened the door and saw that a lamp had been turned on. Apparently the power had been restored sometime during the night. But from the sound of it, the rain still hadn’t let up.

  Squinting, his eyes adjusting to the light, Sullivan looked down at his watch. It was a little after three. He dragged his hand through his hair as he struggled to focus his mind. He wasn’t at his best at three in the morning.

  The wailing continued.

  Sullivan didn’t bother buttoning his shirt. He planned to be back in bed shortly. The two sides flapped about his torso as he went out into the hall and to Marlene’s room to investigate. He paused outside her door, listening.

  He could hear Marlene, softly attempting to soothe the baby. It seemed to be to no avail.

  She could handle this. Eventually. Sullivan turned to walk back into his room, but he stopped just shy of the threshold. Something wouldn’t let him retreat. With a sigh, he returned to stand before Marlene’s door.

  He knocked softly, but there was no answer. Very slowly, he turned the knob. The door was unlocked. Placing his fingertips against it, he pushed the door open a crack at a time until it was completely ajar. Until he saw her.

  Marlene was standing at the window, her head bent. The room was dark except for one small lamp, its base shaped in the form of a duckling. The dim light from it outlined her body softly, blurring the edges, casting her silhouette on the wall and leaving very little to his imagination.

  Leaving everything to his imagination.

  Where it would have to remain, he upbraided himself suddenly. In his imagination. There was no way he was going to cross the line and become more involved with her than he already was. It would only be disastrous to the situation they were embroiled in. He needed to hold on to his objectivity, and he couldn’t if his emotions were entangled.

  And yet he lingered, watching her. Wanting her.

  He could see the reflection of her face in the window. She hadn’t heard him come in. He could still leave. Sullivan debated slipping out. Intellectually, it only seemed right. If it was him, he wouldn’t want anyone invading his space.

  So why was he still standing there like some moonstruck adolescent?

  She turned then. If she was surprised to see him standing in the room, she didn’t show it. “Did the baby wake you?”

  He nodded. “For someone so small, he’s got a good set of lungs.” He walked toward her. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, I’ve just changed his diaper, and he doesn’t feel warm, so my next guess is that he’s hungry.” She looked down at the tiny being in her arms. It was still hard to believe he was finally here, finally hers. “God, he’s so little.”

  Sullivan looked down at his nephew. “They usually are when they start out.”

  He was teasing her, but she didn’t mind. It felt rather nice…she was vaguely aware of having felt this way before, but couldn’t quite remember when.

  “I know, but I never had one of my own before. Somehow, I thought he’d be bigger.” She smiled at her son. “But you’ll be a linebacker before I know it, and then this’ll just be a golden memory. Won’t it, Robby?”

  The baby continued to cry as he tried to shove his fist into his mouth. The resulting sound reminded Sullivan of a mewling kitten.

  Marlene lifted her head. Sullivan saw how tired she looked. But even exhausted, she was beautiful. Untouched beauty. It was a little like finding a new type of flower no one else had discovered yet, he mused, forcing himself not to touch her face, not to cup her cheek.

  It wasn’t easy. The sexual pull he felt toward her was strong.

  Her eyes traveled over him. Sullivan’s shirt was hanging open. He was a great deal more muscular than she would have thought. The room grew a little warmer.

  She wasn’t supposed to think about things like that, she reminded herself. Not about him.

  Uncomfortable, Sullivan looked around her bedroom. It was pristine, giving the appearance that no one had actually slept here. Nothing looked out of place. Even the covers of her bed we
re neatly folded back. He thought of his own bed and the rumpled mess he always left in his wake. And then he thought of her in his bed and knew he was on dangerous ground.

  “Where did you put the complimentary formula the nurse gave you?”

  Marlene paused, thinking.

  “I think it’s still in the suitcase you brought in. In the foyer.” She hadn’t bothered to bring it upstairs. She had attempted to nurse the baby once, and he’d fallen asleep rather than work for his meal. Stubborn, she thought fondly. Like his Mom. “Here, hold him for a minute, will you?”

  Before he knew it, there was a baby in his arms and Marlene was heading for the hallway.

  “Hey, wait a minute.” Sullivan managed to catch her by the wrist, slowing her down. “Why don’t you let me get it, and you hold the baby?”

  She shook her head, easing her wrist from his grasp. “That’s all right, I can manage. See if you can keep him amused.”

  Marlene hurried from the room. He followed in her wake, then watched from the landing as she went down the staircase.

  “I wasn’t going to steal anything,” he called after her.

  Only my son, she thought as she padded on bare feet into the foyer. “Yes, I know.”

  With a shake of his head, Sullivan walked into the nursery. Muted light tiptoed about the room from the duckling lamp. The walls were professionally decorated with scenes from various nursery rhymes. He would guess that the cost of the furnishings in the room alone could probably have outfitted an entire house.

  His father certainly couldn’t use the argument that they could provide better for the boy than she could, he thought. What it was all boiling down to was wishes, hers versus his father’s.

  He looked down at the baby she had placed into his arms. He felt awkward, as if he were going to drop this bundle at any moment. And yet, there was something very comforting about holding this tiny squirming bit of humanity.

  “Hi,” he murmured.

  The baby continued squirming and bleating pitifully. Sullivan felt inept. “Look, I don’t know anything about taking care of a baby.” He could identify with the way Marlene had said she felt earlier. “Where’s your mother, Robby?”

  Apparently attracted to the sound of a deeper voice, the infant ceased crying and stared up at him with Marlene’s eyes. Sullivan felt something move within him, creating a bond with this small person.

  He stroked the boy’s head. This wasn’t so bad after all.

  “You don’t look very terrifying, but I guess you cast a longer shadow.” He looked at the length of the infant tucked against him. Robby had measured eighteen and a half inches at birth. Sullivan smiled. “I guess you’d have to, half-pint.”

  Robby’s eyes were indigo. Sullivan absently wondered if they would change. He vaguely recalled reading somewhere that most babies had blue eyes when they were born, only to change to another color within a year.

  He hoped Robby’s eyes would stay the color they were.

  “You’re going to be able to do incredible things with those eyes of yours in about fifteen years,” Sullivan promised the boy.

  “Are you corrupting my son?” Marlene asked, laughing as she entered.

  “My nephew,” he corrected.

  There was something a little too possessive about the way he said that, she thought. She wasn’t out of the woods yet by any means. Just because he was being nice to her didn’t mean he was going to be reasonable about Robby’s custody.

  “Here, you’ve suffered long enough. Let me have him.” She took the baby into her arms.

  “I was just getting the knack of it.” His hand brushed against the bottle as he surrendered Robby to her. “Hey, isn’t that supposed to be warmed or something?”

  Damn, she’d been so intent on returning, she’d forgotten to heat the bottle. Talk about feeling incompetent. She looked from the bottle to Sullivan. “Warm it up for me? It should be a little warmer than room temperature.”

  He was surprised by the request. “Are you sure that won’t interfere with your independence?”

  “Maybe, but I’m too tired to go downstairs again.” She raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Would you?”

  “Sure, no problem. Where’s the kitchen?”

  “Just past the family room.”

  He nodded, leaving.

  Marlene sat down in the rocking chair. It was made out of ash and had a honey gold finish that she had applied herself while dreaming of moments just like this. Of sitting and rocking with her child. She’d had an idyllic vision of motherhood that wasn’t mired in feedings and diapers.

  Yeah, right. It made her smile now to think how foolish she’d been. The only part that had gone according to plan was the love she felt. That she had vastly underestimated, she thought, her heart swelling as she looked down at her son.

  For once it felt nice to be wrong.

  Sullivan flipped a switch as he entered the kitchen, fluorescent light flooding the room. The kitchen was as immaculate as her bedroom, he thought. The house needed a little clutter to make it seem like a home.

  He figured the baby would take care of that soon enough. Sullivan stopped, realizing what he had just projected. If he was successful, the baby wouldn’t be here to create the chaos he’d just envisioned.

  So this was what it meant to be stuck between a rock and a hard place, he thought darkly. He couldn’t say that he much cared for it.

  Pushing the thought to the side, Sullivan looked around for the microwave oven. It was built into the wall, set apart from the stove. There were three independent rows of buttons along the side. It looked a great deal more complicated than the little microwave he kept in his office.

  Placing the bottle inside, he pressed what he hoped was the right combination of buttons and waited for the bell to go off.

  Or the bottle to explode, he mused, whichever happened first.

  The bell went off before the bottle cracked. He considered that a victory. Taking the bottle out, Sullivan tested the liquid on the inside of his wrist. It still felt a little cool, but better that than too hot, he thought. In any case, he didn’t want to fool around with the controls again. There was no sense in pressing his luck.

  Bottle in hand, Sullivan hurried up the stairs. The door to the nursery was still standing open the way he had left it. The night-light sent out its scattered beams along the floor, hugging corners like a low-lying fog. The light mingled with the shadows.

  Marlene was sitting in the rocking chair, the baby pressed against her breast. She was cooing to him, rocking gently back and forth. Her face was soft, radiant. Moved, Sullivan stood there watching her for a moment. If he was a painter, he would have entitled the scene, Portrait of a Young Mother.

  When she looked up in his direction, Sullivan coughed, feeling like an intruder caught trespassing. “Milk’s ready.” He held up the bottle for proof.

  She extended her hand. “I’m not sure we still need it,” she said softly. “I think he decided that he’d rather go back to sleep.”

  Sullivan gave her the bottle anyway. Marlene gently rubbed the nipple along the baby’s lips, coaxing him to begin sucking. After a moment he responded. Drops of formula gathered about the rosebud mouth, trickling down his chin.

  Sullivan wasn’t aware of holding his breath until he felt the tightening sensation in his chest. It was like watching a tiny miracle unfold. He passed his cupped hand lightly along the downy head. As he did, his fingertips accidentally brushed against Marlene’s breast.

  A strong emotion dove through her, rivaling the maternal instincts that were solidifying. She looked up at Sullivan, her eyes wide with wonder.

  He felt it, too, she thought. She could see it in his eyes. He’d felt that sudden jolt, that incredible charge that flashed through her like a thousand Fourth of July sparklers.

  He knew he should withdraw. This was a very private moment between mother and child—and father, if Derek had been alive to see this.

  But he was here, and he couldn’t help
himself.

  Just as he couldn’t help what he did next. Drawn by a force he had no control over, Sullivan lowered his mouth to Marlene’s.

  Ever so slightly, as if he were afraid of shattering the moment, he brushed his lips over hers.

  The salvo of sweetness that shot through Marlene almost left her gasping. It occurred to her that she had never felt so happy, so complete as she did this very moment.

  And that she probably never would again.

  The sobering thought receded into the background as she reached up and slid her hand along Sullivan’s neck, drawing him just a fraction of an inch closer to her.

  Seize the moment, her father had always counseled. There were times, she mused, when her father was right.

  Chapter Eleven

  Instant passion, just add lips. That was the label that should have been affixed to her, Sullivan thought, his mind spinning. The woman packed a lethal punch that immediately sent him reeling.

  And wanting.

  For only a moment longer, he allowed himself to taste the incredible combination of sweetness and sex that she exuded. Anything more and he might not recover fully.

  As if he were capable of doing that now.

  Sullivan swallowed as he took a step back. Reluctantly, he drew his hand away from her hair. This attraction was certainly something he hadn’t bargained on.

  “Maybe I’d better go.”

  Holding Robby to her, she reached for Sullivan’s hand. “No.”

  Marlene realized that she had said the word too quickly and too emphatically. In the wake of his kiss, she realized a great many other things about herself as well. Such as, despite the baby, there was a part of her that still felt incomplete. That still needed something—or someone.

  She cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s still the middle of the night.” She looked toward the window. Through the opaque curtains she could see the sheets of rain sliding down the panes. She didn’t want him leaving in this. She didn’t want him leaving, period. But that was a foolishness she would have to work out for herself. “It’s still raining. Wait until morning.”