Their Meant-to-Be Baby

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Oh, no, I hate it. I’ve been working there for a while now and I can’t get away quick enough. I need a seaside town with good sailing like the one I grew up in.’

  ‘You’d love it here, then. Lots of yachting types.’

  He shot her a grin. ‘I don’t know that I’d call myself a “yachting” type, exactly. I just like messing about in boats. I was reared on Swallows and Amazons. Free spirits and all that. I guess I’m just trying to recapture my misspent youth.’

  She laughed and shook her head. ‘I bet you were a holy terror growing up.’

  His mouth twitched. ‘My parents would have an opinion on that but they didn’t know the half of it. The most important lesson I learned in childhood was that you can break any rule you like, just so long as you don’t get caught. What about you?’

  What about her? She’d broken every rule going during her own disastrous childhood, but she wasn’t going into all that with him, and certainly not on a first date. She forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘I had my ups and downs.’

  ‘Didn’t we all?’ he said with an easy laugh. ‘I got sent to boarding school when I was ten.’

  Which just underlined the differences between them, she thought. Not that it changed anything, because as soon as they’d finished dinner she’d make her excuses and leave, and that would be it.

  She stopped outside the restaurant. ‘Here we are, but it looks pretty busy.’

  ‘The town’s buzzing,’ he said, sounding surprised.

  ‘Saturday night, though. It’s quieter midweek. There’s the café next door if they don’t have a table here—they do great pastries and really good coffee, so we could give it a try—Oh, hang on, those people are getting up. We could be in luck.’

  He opened the restaurant door for her, and they were shown to the window table that had been vacated by the couple.

  ‘That was good timing,’ he said. ‘I’m seriously starving and it smells amazing in here. So what would you recommend?’ he asked, flicking the menu open.

  ‘They do a good set meal for two, but it’s quite a lot of food. We often stretch it to three. Here.’

  She reached over and pointed it out, and he scanned it and nodded. ‘Looks good. Let’s go for that. I’m sure we can manage to do it justice. Do you fancy sharing a bottle of wine as we’re not driving?’

  Did she? Could she trust herself not to lose her common sense and do something rash?

  ‘That would be lovely, but I’ll only have one glass,’ she said, and ignored the little voice that told her it was the thin end of the wedge.

  * * *

  ‘That was gorgeous. Thank you. I’ve eaten way too much.’

  ‘Nah, you need to maintain your curves,’ he said lightly, and looked down at her, at the wide grey eyes that wanted to be wary and didn’t manage it, the slight tilt of her smile, her lips soft and moist and dangerously kissable.

  Who was she?

  Not a glamour model, of that he was damn sure, but beyond that he knew nothing. Did it matter? He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming to her, either, but hey.

  He leant over and kissed her cheek, brushing his lips against the soft, delicate skin, breathing in a lingering trace of scent that teased his senses and made him want more.

  Much more.

  ‘Thank you for joining me. I hate eating alone.’

  ‘I’m used to it,’ she said. ‘My flatmate’s moved out and it’s eat alone or starve.’

  They fell silent, in that awkward moment when they should have said goodbye and gone their separate ways, but he realised he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to say goodbye, didn’t want to let her go, knowing he’d never see her again.

  ‘Fancy a stroll along the seafront?’

  There was a slight hesitation, and then she smiled. ‘Why not?’ she said, as if she’d answered her own question. ‘I love the sound of the sea at night.’

  ‘Me, too.’

  They fell into step, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to put his arm around her shoulders and draw her up against his side, but he could hear the click of her red stiletto boots against the prom with every step, and it was driving him crazy.

  Red shoes, no pants...

  The saying echoed in his head, taunting his imagination, and he tried to haul it back into order. They weren’t really shoes anyway, he told himself sternly, more ankle boots, and her underwear was none of his business, but her hip nudged his with every step and it was all he could think about.

  They’d walked past the cluster of restaurants and cafés and holiday flats to where the amusements started, but being out of season everything was shut and it was deserted, with nothing and no one to distract him from the click of her red stilettos.

  The lights there were dim and spaced far apart, and between them there was a section of the prom that was hardly lit at all, only enough to make out her features as he drew her to a halt.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, and she tilted her head and listened with him to the soft suck of the waves on the shingle, rhythmic and soothing. In the distance someone laughed, and music blared momentarily as a car passed them and turned the corner, the silence wrapping itself around them again as the music receded.

  ‘The sea’s quiet tonight,’ she said softly. ‘Sometimes it’s really stormy. I love it then. Wild and dangerous and free.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He stared down into her eyes, lifting a hand to stroke a stray wisp of hair away from her face. Her skin was soft, cool under his fingertips, and he let them drift down her cheek, settling under her chin and tilting it up towards him as he lowered his head slowly and touched his lips to hers.

  She moaned softly and opened her mouth to him, giving him access to the touch of her tongue, the sharp, clean edge of her teeth, the sweet freshness and bitter chocolate of the after-dinner mint teasing his tastebuds as he shifted his head slightly and plundered the depth and heat of her mouth.

  His body was already primed by the time he’d spent with her as they’d lingered laughing over their meal, tortured further by the nudge of her hip and the tap-tap-tap of those incredibly sexy little boots on the prom as they’d walked, and now it roared to life.

  He drew away, lifting his head from hers, searching her face for clues as his heart pounded and his chest rose and fell with every ragged breath, but it was too dark to read her eyes. He could hear the hitch of her breath, though, feel the quiver in it as she exhaled and her breath drifted over his skin in tiny pulses.

  ‘Stay with me tonight,’ he said on impulse, and she hesitated for so long he felt the sinking disappointment in his gut; but then she smiled, a wry, sad smile as she lost some internal battle and nodded.

  ‘Your place or mine?’ she murmured, and his body gave itself a high five.

  * * *

  They went to his hotel.

  Neutral territory? Tidier than her flat, for sure, and she wasn’t ready yet to give that much of herself away. Her body was one thing. Her home—that was another. So she’d told him it was further away than it really was, which made the decision easy.

  The hotel was one of those anonymous places that could have been anywhere in the world, featureless but functional, scrupulously clean, the room dominated by the bed with its white striped bedding tucked tautly round the mattress.

  It was hardly romantic, but it didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was them, alone together and driven by a need that had come out of nowhere and wouldn’t be denied.

  Their clothes hit the floor—jackets, her scarf, his sweater dragged off over his head so that his chest was right in front of her eyes and jammed her breath to a halt in her throat.

  She reached out to touch it, her fingertips tracing the outline of taut, firm muscles that jerked at her touch. His hand caught her chin, gentle fingers tilting her face up to his
, and he stared down into her eyes for a long moment before he stepped back out of reach.

  ‘Undress for me.’

  His voice was gruff, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and his eyes held hers, fire and ice dancing in their depths. Her heart was trying to climb out of her chest, jamming her breath, but she sucked air in somehow, coming out of her trance as the oxygen reached her brain and reality hit.

  He thought she was a glamour model. How could she do this? Undress for him as if she had all the confidence of a woman who earned her living with her body? She couldn’t even remember what underwear she’d flung on after her shower!

  Matching? Probably not. The bra was hot pink, she knew that, because the lace was scratchy, and if she had that bra on, it was because she was getting to the bottom of her underwear drawer. Which didn’t bode well for the knickers.

  She peeled off her top, and his breath hissed in between his teeth. His hand moved as if to reach for her, and then stopped, hauled back into his pocket beside a tell-tale bulge that made her body weep and her legs turn to mush.

  She sat down on the bed and unzipped her boots, tugging them off and then standing up again to slide down the zip on her jeans and wiggle them over her hips, catching a reassuring glimpse of her knickers. Navy lace shorts edged with pink ribbon, so sort of matching. It could have been a lot worse.

  Easing her breath out slowly on a silent sigh of relief, she slid the jeans down, but they clung to her legs and there was no sexy way to get them off.

  ‘Here. Let me.’

  He crouched in front of her, the fabric bunched in his hands as he pushed the jeans down her legs, lifting her feet in turn to strip them away. His breath was hot, drifting over her legs, the tender skin of her thighs, seeping through the lace fabric just a hand’s breadth from his mouth. His hands slid round and cupped her bottom, holding her still as he closed the gap, breathing out, the hot rush going straight to her core.

  ‘There goes that fantasy,’ he murmured, and her ego quailed.

  ‘What fantasy?’ she asked, just so she could flagellate herself with it in the future, but he laughed softly.

  ‘Red shoes—’

  ‘—no pants,’ she finished, and felt her breath ease out in a sigh of relief.

  ‘I’m sure we can fix that,’ he said, his voice a low rasp, but she put her hand out to stop him as he reached for them.

  ‘Your turn,’ she said, stalling for time, and he smiled wickedly and dumped his wallet and keys and phone on the bedside table before he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks and shucked his jeans, kicking them away to land in a heap with hers.

  There was nothing unusual or remarkable about his snug jersey shorts, but the contents...

  ‘Keep going,’ she ordered, and he quirked a brow and peeled them slowly down, letting them drop to the floor as he stood there bold and unselfconscious and gloriously naked.

  How wonderful to be so sure of yourself, she thought as he pushed her down onto the bed and tipped her back, reaching out his hands to draw the dark blue lace with its pink ribbons slowly down over her hips, her legs, her feet...

  ‘Now that’s more like it,’ he said, and the searing flame of his eyes stroked her with fire.

  She whimpered, clenching her knees together to stop the blaze from burning her up, but he reached out a hand, pressing her knees apart, his wicked, clever fingers replacing the stroke of his eyes as his hand slid up her thigh and found its target unerringly.

  The intimacy shocked and yet excited her, the tension winding tighter and tighter in her body with every touch, and then suddenly he was gone, leaving her lying there exposed and aching, screaming for release.

  ‘Sam—?’

  ‘Two seconds.’

  She heard a slight rustle, a faint tearing sound, and then he was back. A condom, she realised. Thank God one of them was thinking straight, although he didn’t need it because she was on the Pill, but she knew nothing about him—

  ‘Shove up,’ he muttered, and she wriggled into the middle of the bed as he followed her, peeling away her bra, his mouth taking its place, fastening over one breast and suckling hard as a hand found the other and cradled it in his warm palm.

  His knee nudged hers apart and she yielded to him, her body aching for his, arching into him as she begged incoherently, her hesitation forgotten, pleading for something out of reach, something special, and so elusive.

  ‘Easy,’ he murmured, and then he was there, filling her, her face cradled gently in his hands as he kissed her. His mouth was hot and sweet and coaxing, his body taut and so, so clever, and the feeling inside her escalated wildly. She felt the pressure building, tried to squirm away, to stall it because suddenly to give him so much of herself seemed too great a step, making her too vulnerable to this stranger who could play her body like a violin.

  He held her, though, his body claiming hers, refusing to free it, to let her escape the thing she’d yearned for and now dreaded because it would tear down her defences and leave her wide open to hurt.

  ‘Look at me, Kate,’ he demanded softly, and his eyes captured hers and held them, steady and sure, the flame burning bright as he drove her over the edge and crumbled all her defences into dust.

  Then, and only then, did he close his eyes, drop his head against her shoulder and let himself go.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SAM PROPPED HIMSELF on one elbow and watched Kate sleeping, her rich toffee-coloured hair an unruly tangle, her limbs sprawled in exhaustion.

  He knew how that felt.

  Their mutual thirst was finally slaked, but on the way there he’d wrung every last gasp out of her, taken both of them to the limit of their endurance over and over again. It had been amazing, astonishing. Compelling beyond anything he’d ever felt before.

  Guilt plagued him at that, but he pushed it away. It was only sex, nothing more. It wasn’t disloyal, because this wasn’t a relationship, just a crazy night out of nowhere. Surely to God he was allowed to have fun sometimes, to forget, just for a few hours?

  A curl lay across her cheek, and he lifted it away, careful not to disturb her. Not that he thought he would. She was sleeping like the dead—

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was only six thirty, but the man who owned the boat was going out on the tide before nine so they’d arranged to meet at seven, but then he should be done. He could be back in town by eight, nine at the latest. Maybe she could meet him then?

  Her jeans were in a heap on the floor, and her phone was lying beside them. He picked it up, and his own, went into the bathroom and called himself from her phone to get the number, then sent her a text.

  Meet me for breakfast? Café by the restaurant at nine? S

  He put the phones down, showered and towelled himself roughly dry, cleaned his teeth and then on the spur of the moment reloaded the new emergency toothbrush he’d found her before he pulled on his clothes and packed. He tried hard not to disturb her, but he could have slammed the door and she wouldn’t have heard she was so heavily asleep. He’d ask Reception to give her a call at eight. That would give her an hour to get ready for breakfast.

  He hesitated a moment, then bent, breathing in the scent of warm skin and sex as he touched his lips to her flushed, sleep-creased cheek.

  She didn’t move. Just as well. He was out of time.

  He picked up his things, put her phone where she’d see it and let himself quietly out of the room.

  * * *

  A phone was ringing.

  Kate struggled up out of the depths of sleep and registered her surroundings as she groped for the room phone. ‘Hello?’

  The recorded, electronic voice was horribly cheerful. ‘This is your alarm call. The time is eight a.m.’

  Alarm call? Why...?

  Sam, she realised, looking round at t
he empty room. All his stuff was gone. He must have left for his meeting, but why hadn’t he said goodbye? After all they’d shared, he’d just left without a word?

  Her brain slowly coming to, she dropped the receiver back on the cradle and slumped against the pillows.

  Dammit, would she never learn?

  She stumbled out of bed and opened the bottle of spring water on the hospitality tray, dragged on her clothes and shoved her phone in her pocket. She was so bone tired. She was going home for a shower and then she’d fall into bed—

  Her mobile rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket and stared at it in dismay. Her ward manager, which could only mean one thing. Her finger hovered over the phone, then she gave in to the inevitable guilt and answered it reluctantly.

  ‘Hi, Jill.’

  ‘Kate, I’m so sorry, I hate to do this to you on your day off but is there any way you can come in?’

  Again? Her heart sank and she plopped down onto the bed in despair. ‘Can’t you get an agency nurse? I’ve just done seven days straight—’

  ‘I’ve tried. Please, Kate? Jane’s called in—she’s got norovirus, too, and we’re so short-staffed we’re going to have to close the Emergency Department if we can’t get more nursing cover. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.’

  She gave in. The winter vomiting bug had swept through Yoxburgh Park Hospital in the last few weeks, which was why Petra had been called in last night, and there was no point fighting the inevitable. ‘OK, I’m on my way. I just need time to shower and grab some breakfast—’

  ‘Quick shower. I’ll make you some toast when you get here. We really need you now.’

  Oh, dammit. ‘OK, OK, I’m coming. Give me ten minutes.’

  Which meant she didn’t even have time to go home and change. It could have been worse. At least she hadn’t gone out last night in a tiny dress and six-inch stilettos or she’d be doing the walk of shame.

  Not that it would be the first time, she thought with a sigh, but she always kept a pair of work shoes at the hospital since the first time it had happened, and she could wear scrubs. She stripped and went back into the bathroom, and realised Sam had at least had the decency to leave her a blob of toothpaste on the new brush he’d produced for her last night out of the depths of his overnight bag. In case he ever forget to take one with him, he’d explained, proving he was way more organised than she’d ever be, but that wasn’t difficult.