A Baby for Christmas

by Anne McAllister

  ‘Well?’ Piran said finally, breaking into her reverie.

  Carly glanced over at him, startled, to find him looking at her. ‘I think we can make it work.’

  ‘You do?’

  She nodded. ‘As long as you’re not going to jump down my throat if I change some things.’

  A brow lifted. ‘Me?’

  The innocence of his tone made Carly roll her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me. You got an award for sweetness and light that I haven’t heard about?’

  Suddenly Piran grinned. It transformed his whole face, lightening the usual grim cast of his features, brightening the world, making Carly’s heart kick over in her chest. Oh, help, she thought. Quickly she bent down to grab one of the stacks of paper.

  ‘What about—?’ Piran began, but she cut him off.

  ‘Shut up and get to work. If I’m going to do my part, I don’t need interruptions.’

  Piran stared at her a moment without speaking. Then he shrugged and turned back to the computer.

  Carly forced herself to concentrate on the manuscript for the rest of the afternoon, reading to herself, muttering under her breath, scribbling changes, scratching them out, scribbling in more and then reading it again. Once or twice she heard Piran clear his throat as if he might say something. She glared at him. He went back to typing.

  The only time she stopped was when she heard the sound of a car, then a thump on the porch.

  She expected a knock to follow, but nothing happened. She glanced over at Piran, but he didn’t even look up. In a few moments the car drove away again.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘The mail. Ben brings it by whenever the boat docks. Saves me the trip into town.’ He didn’t even seem to want to make a trip to the porch.

  To stretch her legs and get a few minutes’ respite, Carly went to fetch it. She found a pile in a small wicker basket by the steps. She carried it back inside. There was some material from the Spanish government, background material which Piran pounced on at once, two journals which he set aside for later, last Sunday’s New York Times, and one pale pink envelope exuding a fairly potent perfume on which Piran’s name was written in loopy feminine script.

  He tossed it aside.

  Carly was curious in spite of herself. Who was hankering after him now? Was he really that cavalier about the letter or was he just being discreet?

  And why should she care anyway? Carly asked herself. Piran’s girlfriends were no concern of hers. She took her pencil and started slashing at the second chapter again.

  ‘That bad?’

  Carly’s head jerked up and she glanced at Piran self-consciously, wondering if he had guessed her reaction to the envelope. His face was unreadable.

  ‘You promised you wouldn’t complain.’

  ‘I’m not. But—’ he grimaced ‘—you’re going at it with a vengeance.’

  ‘Just making a few notes.’

  ‘You can use the computer if you want.’

  ‘I will at the end of the chapter. I’ll put them all in, smooth them out, then you can read over my corrections and make your own. All right?’

  Piran hesitated, then he nodded and went back to work.

  Imagine that, a civil exchange, Carly thought, heartened. Perhaps they would survive after all.

  She glanced his way again, but her gaze landed on the pink envelope near Piran’s arm. Who—? No, it wasn’t any of her business.

  But, whether it was or not, the letter tantalized Carly for the rest of the afternoon. Only when they cleared up for the dinner that Ben’s wife, Ruth, delivered that evening did Carly notice that the letter was gone.

  Piran never mentioned it. In fact he barely spoke to her through the meal, preferring instead the company of an article from one of the journals that had come in the mail.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he asked her.

  ‘Not a bit,’ Carly assured him. It was better this way, she told herself. She ate her grouper and salad in silence and tried not to even notice the man sitting across the table from her.

  ‘I’ll do up the dishes tonight,’ she said when she’d finished. ‘Then I’m going for a walk.’

  ‘We’re never going to get finished if you’re always leaving.’

  ‘I’ve worked all day!’ And she’d fully intended to come back and work for the rest of the evening, but not if he thought he was pushing the buttons.

  ‘So’ve I. I didn’t even rest the way the doctor told me to.’

  ‘So rest, then.’

  Now that she took a good look at him, she thought he did look rather peaked, slumped in his chair, poking at his salad. He hadn’t eaten a lot, either.

  ‘You won’t be any good to Bixby Grissom if you collapse,’ she told him sharply.

  ‘The only thing you care about is Bixby Grissom?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here!’

  Piran grunted.

  Carly’s gaze narrowed. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He turned back to his article.

  Carly looked at him a long moment, but he ignored her. Finally she stalked over to the sink, flicked on the faucet and scrubbed her dishes furiously, banging them into the drainer. Then she wiped her hands on the sides of her shorts and headed for the door.

  ‘Be back before dark,’ he said as she pushed it open.

  ‘I’ll be back when I want!’

  ‘As long as it’s before dark,’ he said mildly.

  She whirled around and glared at him. ‘What’ll you do—come after me and drag me back by the hair if I’m not?’

  He smiled. ‘Why don’t you try it, Carlota, and find out?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HE SHOULD have rested. He wasn’t kidding about the doctor having said he needed to. But Piran hadn’t wanted to get up from working in the middle of the day and take a nap.

  It was clear enough that Carly thought he’d done a lousy job on the book. He didn’t want her to think he was weak as a kitten as well. Even if he was.

  All he’d been able to do was ride her about sleeping in, make her look worse than he did. But she’d certainly worked all afternoon.

  If he’d even faintly hoped that she was lying about her role in shaping up their last book, he knew now that the hope was in vain. He also knew that Carly O’Reilly was once more going to complicate his life.

  He raked a hand through his hair now as he watched until her curvy little rear end had disappeared beyond the bend. Only then did he move away.

  And did he go lie down and forget her the way he ought to?

  No, damn it, he did not.

  He stuffed his feet into a pair of thongs and followed her down to the beach.

  Only because she was such a stubborn little witch that she’d probably drown just to spite him, he told himself as he made his way down the narrow path that wound through the trees. There certainly wasn’t any other reason.

  By the time he reached the spot where the brush ended and the coral sand beach began, Carly was more than a quarter of a mile down the beach, almost to the point that jutted into the sea.

  Piran stopped at the edge of the trees, staying in their shadow, keeping out of sight as he kept an eye on her, not wanting her to look back and notice him.

  He was damned if he’d let her think she mattered. As long as she stayed in sight, he didn’t have to move.

  If she rounded the point, he’d have to follow, of course. But when she got there she climbed up on to the exposed coral shelf and followed it out into the water.

  There she sat down and wrapped her arms around her knees. Piran leaned against the trunk of a coconut palm and watched her.

  Her hair fluttered out behind her in the early evening breeze and he remembered the way it had done just that the day he’d first seen her.

  He shut his eyes, trying not to remember the quickening interest he’d felt in her back then. It was as if she’d been put on earth to haunt him, to mock him, to tease him with the simple love and innocence he’d onc
e believed in and which he’d learned when his parents divorced was really a lie.

  Don’t think about it, he counseled himself.

  And he tried not to. But putting out of his mind the Carly he’d first met didn’t mean he could forget her altogether. Instead he found himself remembering her the Christmas they’d come to Conch Cay.

  He’d tried to avoid her, but it hadn’t been easy. Especially when his father had shanghaied him into taking her to see the cannons and giving her a history lecture. There had been no easy way to get out of it, so he’d gone.

  Up until that afternoon, he’d managed to stay pretty well away from her, doing his best to ignore her even though his hormones objected mightily. He couldn’t ignore her that afternoon, though God knew he’d tried.

  She’d asked a ton of questions and most of them had been good, solid, intelligent ones. She was every bit as bright and inquisitive as he’d imagined her being. And he couldn’t help it. Under her questions he’d found himself talking about all sorts of things—archaeology, history, shells. At first he’d managed to answer in monosyllables. But it hadn’t lasted and pretty soon he couldn’t seem to shut up.

  Hell, he’d even shown her a piece of sea glass and given it to her to keep!

  He could still remember the warmth of her fingers as they’d brushed his, closing around the glass orb. He still remembered her eager smile, her blowing hair. He’d wanted to run his fingers through it. He’d stuffed his hands into his pockets and stridden on, successfully fighting the temptation.

  Then.

  He hadn’t been so lucky the following spring. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, remembering that night, remembering her touch. He’d never in his life lost control so completely. He leaned his head back against the tree trunk and deliberately shut his eyes.

  How in hell was he going to get through the entire month living in the same house with Carly O’Reilly?

  Unless…

  It would be easy enough, he decided, if she wanted what he wanted—a roll between the sheets.

  And maybe she did. She was grown-up now. Maybe she’d wised up and realized that holding out for marriage was pointless. Maybe he wouldn’t have to keep his hands off her at all.

  The notion made him open his eyes again and consider her speculatively. She’d been no more than a child almost ten years ago—albeit a conniving one. But now?

  What if he put the moves on her now? What if he suggested that they might do a little more during their month together than simply writing and editing?

  And if she agreed, if they actually had sex, maybe this ridiculous fascination would cease and he could walk away at the end of the month with his curiosity about her assuaged.

  And if she didn’t?

  Or if she did and it wasn’t?

  Piran didn’t want to think about that.

  Well, he certainly hadn’t taken a nap while she was gone. As Carly came up the path, she saw Piran standing on the deck, leaning against the railing with a glass in his hand, looking for all the world like a jungle cat in wait for his prey.

  Well, it wasn’t going to be her, Carly thought. And it wasn’t even close to dark so he could have nothing to say to her about that. She lifted her chin and didn’t even speak to him as she mounted the steps.

  He let her pass without comment, then followed her into the house. ‘Have a nice walk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’d you go?’

  She gave him a narrow, speculative look. ‘Down the beach. What is this? Practice in conversational English?’ She sat down on the sofa and set the manuscript in her lap, wishing she had a more substantial shield.

  ‘Don’t be testy, Carlota. I’m merely making conversation.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not? We have to live together. We ought to get along.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want to get along. I thought you simply wanted to work.’

  ‘Maybe I’ve changed my mind.’

  She looked at him sharply. ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘You used to follow me down the beach.’

  Carly’s face flamed and her fingers tightened on the pages in her lap. ‘There’s a non sequitur if ever I heard one,’ she said irritably.

  Piran shrugged, but he was watching her intently. ‘But true none the less,’ he said.

  Carly shrugged. ‘I was young and stupid.’

  ‘Young,’ Piran allowed. He came over to the sofa and sat down beside her. Carly cursed herself for not having chosen one of the chairs. She edged away, but he laid his arm along the back of the sofa and his fingers nearly touched her shoulder. She moved as far as she could, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but the faint smile that crept into his eyes told her that he had. Her teeth came together tightly.

  ‘Go away, Piran,’ she said through them.

  ‘In a bit. Tell me, Carly, how come you never married?’

  ‘How do you know I haven’t?’

  He looked momentarily taken aback. ‘I guess I just assumed…’ He stopped, frowning at her.

  ‘I haven’t,’ she said. ‘But it’s typical of you, making assumptions like that.’

  He frowned, then cleared his throat. ‘So, why haven’t you?’ he persisted. ‘You were pretty hot on it once, if I recall.’

  ‘Like I said, I was stupid.’ Was it just her imagination, or was he really moving closer?

  ‘I suppose your mother wasn’t much of an argument for marriage ultimately.’

  Carly’s jaw tightened and her fingers clenched. She didn’t answer him. She wasn’t going to justify her mother to Piran. She knew better than to even try.

  ‘How is Sue?’ he asked after a moment.

  ‘My mother died in September.’

  He opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly closed it again. He looked startled.

  Carly brushed a lock of hair away from her face. ‘Thank you for not saying you’re sorry,’ she said tightly.

  Piran sighed and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. One corner of his mouth lifted in a sort of wry grimace and he shrugged rather awkwardly. ‘Because I’d be a hypocrite if I did?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m sure your mother was a fine person…’ he began awkwardly.

  ‘Oh, don’t!’ She didn’t want to hear that from him. Maybe when her mother had been alive. But not now.

  ‘I can’t even talk about them?’

  ‘Not unless you have something new to say. And you don’t, do you?’ She met his gaze with a challenge in her eyes.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ Piran said. ‘It’s finished. He’s dead. So’s she.’

  ‘But it’s still going on now. Between us. You don’t like me because of what you think my mother did.’

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I liked you all right,’ he muttered after a moment. ‘And you know it.’

  ‘For sex,’ Carly said flatly, a tiny part of her wanting desperately for him to deny it.

  He didn’t. ‘You were an attractive girl. You’re an attractive woman.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Carly said sarcastically.

  ‘What’s the matter with that?’

  ‘I’d like to be valued for more than my physical attributes.’

  ‘You’re bright and intelligent, too,’ Piran said.

  She gave him a wary look.

  ‘You’re probably going to make a success of Des’s and my disastrous book,’ he went on.

  ‘I’m going to try.’

  ‘Good. I’ll appreciate that.’ He smiled at her. There was a speculative light in his eyes that Carly didn’t understand fully.

  ‘What?’ she said, still feeling nervous.

  He reached a hand out and brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. She trembled under this lightest of touches and he smiled again. ‘I thought so,’ he murmured.

  ‘Thought what?’

  ‘That you still want me.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Don’t you be the hypoc
rite, Carly. You know you do. Just the way I still want you.’

  Carly’s jaw dropped.

  A small, humorless smile played on his lips. ‘You’re surprised? I doubt it somehow.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m here for!’ she said quickly.

  ‘Maybe not. But we’d be damn fools not to take advantage of what fate and Des have wrought. Don’t you agree?’

  And, without giving her a chance to agree or not, Piran leaned forward suddenly, closed the small space remaining between them, and touched his mouth to hers.

  It had been over nine years since she’d felt Piran’s lips, nine years since her mouth had opened beneath his, nine years since his tongue had tasted her, teased her, tantalized her. Nine long years!

  But it might as well have been yesterday. She’d never forgotten.

  She’d sought in vain to find that same need, those same feelings with other men. With one of her college boyfriends, with an engineer she’d dated last year, most recently with John. She’d never even come close.

  She’d told herself it was just the night, the moon, young love that had caused her fervent response.

  Yes, maybe she was a hypocrite, because one touch was all it took to tell her that it hadn’t been the night or the moon or young love at all.

  It had been then what it was now: Piran.

  His kiss was firm and sweet and hungry. And it took her so much by surprise that she responded to it—to him. Her mouth melded with his, her tongue tangled with his, her breath mingled with his. And her heart-oh, dear heavens, what he did to her heart!

  She wanted to pull away. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t want—she needed—to pull away. But she was caught, like a fish on a line. And if finally Piran hadn’t broken the contact she didn’t know when she would have.

  ‘Tell me you didn’t like that,’ he said unsteadily, his lips still only millimeters from her own. ‘Tell me, Carly.’

  Carly gave herself a shake, pulled back, licked her lips, tried to still her hammering heart. Oh, God, oh, God, she thought.

  ‘You can’t, can you?’ he said, and his breath touched her heated skin. ‘I didn’t think so,’ he whispered.

  And then he was kissing her again, this time more hungrily than the last. If that kiss had been a test of her responsiveness, this proved that he’d got the answer he wanted.