The Single Dad’s New-Year Bride

by Amy Andrews

  She shook her head. ‘No. Eric was my charge. I was his nanny. He died in my care.’

  There. She’d said it. Said what no one else would. Not her parents. Or her sisters. And not Paul. Paul’s eyes, his withdrawal from her, had said more than his words ever could. She gave him a direct look. A look that dared him to refute it.

  Callum was aware of the slow thud of his heart in his chest. ‘Could you back up? I think you missed a few steps.’

  Hailey nodded wondering where to start as her thumb brushed lightly back and forth over Eric’s dear sweet little face in the photo. They’d all been so happy that day.

  ‘I lived in London for three years. When I left here, I wanted to spread my wings. Try something other than midwifery. I have a counselling degree—’

  ‘Ah. No wonder you’re a good listener.’ Callum smiled.

  Oh, yeah, she was great with other people’s problems. ‘I worked in a refugee crisis centre for a while, counseling kids. That was really hard work. Not physically, like nursing, more emotionally. You know?’

  Callum nodded. He could only begin to imagine the problems kids like that must have.

  ‘Then I got a job at a large London children’s hospital in one of their general paeds wards. I did that for just over a year.’

  She was silent for a while, like she was trying to order things properly for him. He didn’t want to pressure her. He wanted it to come out in her own time, in her own way, like he knew it had to.

  ‘Paul was a pharmacist there. I liked him…a lot. His wife had left him when Eric was a baby and his long-term nanny had left six months before that and Paul hadn’t been able to find a good permanent replacement. Eric was five and such a cutie. I’d often go over to their place and hang out with them after work.’

  Callum nodded for her to continue, even though he knew where the conversation was going.

  ‘Not long after that Paul asked me if I wanted the nanny job and I jumped at it. I was eager to try something different and though the pay wasn’t fantastic it was a live-in position, which meant all my living expenses were taken care of.’

  Except there was more to it than that, Callum could tell from the photo. There was an intimacy to the image. A possessiveness in Paul’s arm on her shoulder. It spoke of connection, of family.

  ‘You were in love with him?’

  Hailey glanced at him, the matter-of-factness in his voice echoed in the neutrality of his facial features. ‘We began a relationship a couple of months after I moved in.’

  Uhuh! That explained her little speech in the panroom about dating colleagues. It had definitely been a case of once bitten, twice shy.

  ‘Everything was great. Really, really fantastic. Until about three months before Eric died. His mother turned up on the scene. She wanted to reconcile.’

  Hailey would never forget that day as long as she lived. The photo she was holding had been taken the day before Donna’s return. They had never been that happy again.

  ‘Oh,’ Callum said. What else could he say? It must have been hard for Hailey.

  ‘Paul, he was confused…He wanted to do the right thing by Eric…He ended it with me.’ Hailey paused, knowing she had skimmed over the details but the pain and betrayal of that moment still stung nearly two years later. Coming home to find them in bed together. She took a shaky breath. ‘They reconciled for a couple of months. I stayed on because of Eric but the situation was getting untenable for me.’

  ‘It must have been hard to have their reconciliation shoved in your face every day,’ Callum sympathised.

  Hailey nodded. ‘It was. But she left again after eight weeks and I’m glad I stayed on. They were both devastated by her desertion. And then less than a month later Eric died.’

  Callum regarded Hailey as he took a sip of his beer. She had gone silent, staring hard at the photo in her hand. ‘How?’ he prompted after a while.

  ‘From meningitis. We’d been out all day, shopping and looking through the Natural History Museum—he really loved that place. He was exhausted. We both were. I didn’t think anything of it when he fell asleep in front of the television that afternoon.’

  Callum shut his eyes. He could hear the doubt and guilt lacing her voice. It had gone from hesitant but strong to tremulous, husky. He knew the futility of guilt and would have given anything to be able to make her see that it didn’t serve any useful purpose.

  ‘And he was still sleeping when his father came home and Paul went to wake him because otherwise he never would have slept that night. He was practically unrouseable.’

  She didn’t know where they’d come from but tears were running down her cheeks. She wiped at them and looked at the moisture on her fingers. She hadn’t cried over this in months.

  Callum saw the moisture glisten on her fingertips. No wonder she’d been so antsy about Tom coming down with something while he was out. ‘Hailey, the onset of meningitis can be so swift. It can kill in hours.’

  She nodded and looked at him. She should have been embarrassed to be showing such raw emotion in front of him but on a primal level she knew that he, of all people, would understand. ‘I know that. I do. But it was…so awful. He was on life support for forty-eight hours before he died. And Paul…’

  ‘He blamed you.’

  Hailey looked at him sharply. ‘He was grieving.’

  Callum blinked at her vehement defence. It took a few moments for him to get it. Ah. ‘You’re still in love with him.’ He was surprised how much the knowledge affected him.

  ‘No.’ Hailey looked away. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Callum nodded. It took time. He knew that.

  They didn’t say anything for a few moments. He watched a few more tears escape and trek unhindered down her face and couldn’t bear it any longer. He stood. ‘Here.’ He held out his hand to her.

  Hailey looked up. Way up. Dear God, the man was a giant! ‘What?’ she asked, her voice husky with emotion.

  ‘I’m going to give you a hug.’

  Hailey looked at his outstretched hand as if it was a monster from the deep. She sank further back into the chair.

  ‘Hailey,’ Callum said patiently, trying not to be insulted by her obvious aversion to his touch. ‘You’re crying. I’m offering you an age-old form of comfort. I think a hug is probably OK under the circumstances.’

  She looked at his hand again. Heaven only knew, she wanted to take it so badly she could barely see it in front of her. But she wasn’t entirely sure a hug could ever be just a hug in such emotionally charged circumstances.

  ‘Doctor’s orders.’ He grinned, reaching impatiently for her hand lying on the arm of the sofa. He pulled her up and towards him. He couldn’t explain it—it just seemed like the right gesture at the right time. It was probably something they both needed.

  Except as he enfolded her in his arms he hadn’t been prepared for the total and utter cataclysmic impact of her body against his. Yes, he’d been aware of their unspoken attraction but hadn’t remotely suspected that a friendly hug could feel so dangerous. Sexy. Sinful. Leaving him wanting more. More than hugging.

  Her scent infused his senses. Her diminutive frame worked its way beneath his defences. He could feel her breath and her heartbeat and the imprint of her breasts. He looked down on her dark head pressed to his chest, her hair soft against his shirt. His fingers automatically sought her waist and the curve of her hip felt ripe and lush.

  Hailey felt Callum become still as he realised what she’d already known. Their attraction was too strong to withstand something even as simple, as asexual, as a friendly hug. He was everywhere. Filling her up. Her head and her heart and her senses. She clutched his shirt to steady herself as she pressed her face into his chest and inhaled a huge dose of his clean male aroma.

  Callum’s hands closed convulsively on her hips, subconsciously drawing her into him. This was insane. ‘Hailey,’ he croaked, looking down at her.

  ‘Callum we can’t—’

  He d
idn’t give her a chance to finish, both his hands skimming her face and spearing through her hair as he cut off her protest with the urgent covering of his mouth.

  Hailey followed where he led. There was no thought of protest now he had made that first move. Nothing had ever felt this right. His mouth was urgent, desperate, almost frantic on hers, and she matched his pace, moaning deep in her throat as the kiss dripped molten desire into her bloodstream.

  She felt him lifting her up, lifting her higher until their heads were level and she felt as if she was kissing him as an equal. On her terms. Giving as well as taking. She bracketed his face in her hands, raking her fingers up into his hair, revelling in the eroticism as his very short spikes grazed the sensitive flesh of her fingertips.

  She ran her palm backwards and forwards over his scalp, her hands already addicted to the sensation. He groaned and it emboldened her to push her tongue into his mouth, desperate to taste him, to explore him.

  Callum moved, feeling for the lounge, lowering Hailey, placing his knee on the edge and easing her gently backwards. She clung to him, bringing him down with her, her lips glued to his.

  ‘Hailey,’ he gasped, pulling away, a vague sense of propriety giving him pause. He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath ragged as her mouth sought his eye, his cheek, his neck. ‘This is totally out of control. If you want it to stop, it had better be now.’

  She shook her head. It was like a line had been crossed and there was no going back. Hailey sought his mouth. ‘No,’ she said against his lips.

  It was all the encouragement he needed. His body imprisoned her against the soft leather as his mouth plundered hers. He moved lower, his lips seeking her neck, her ears, the straight, hard ridge of her collarbone.

  His hand skimmed her side, slid under her shirt, felt the heat of her skin, ran over the contours of her stomach, her ribs and the rise of her breasts. He felt her push urgently against his hand as he cupped a lacy mound and swallowed the gasp she let out as he pushed her bra aside.

  It was happening fast. His pulse hammered like a train. His breath was coming in short, sharp pants. But it didn’t feel wrong or rushed or awkward. He felt like this was what they’d been destined to do from the beginning, on the balcony that night of the ball. It was almost as if he’d been born to touch her.

  And it felt good. Good to feel again. To have lust bubbling in his gut and desire heating his blood. Talking about the tragedies of his life had given him an even greater sense of living. Of making every day, every breath count.

  For once he wasn’t poor Callum, the widower. Or poor Callum the single dad. Or poor Callum, the father of poor little sick Tom. He was normal. Average. Just another guy. No—not just another guy. He was a hot and virile guy. And Hailey was one hundred per cent into him. He hadn’t asked for her pity. And she hadn’t given him any.

  So what if she had a truckload of baggage? That they could never be together? Her hands were on him. Touching him, wanting him. Her lips were plastered to his, her tongue dancing an erotic tango. Nothing mattered right now other than this rare moment of indulgence. It was about him and her. About male and female. Two consenting adults moving to a rhythm as old as time.

  Hailey felt Callum’s hand push her skirt down, his hand on her bare thigh where it met the curve of her bottom, but still she wanted more. She’d never felt such an intense attraction to a man—ever—and she wanted it all. At once. She wanted to be part of him.

  She grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He ducked out of it and she tossed it away. In seconds his smooth skin was laid bare to her touch. She wasted no time. He was warm and vital. His muscles contracted beneath her fingernails and she grabbed his buttocks, kneading them, grinding herself against him.

  After a year of struggling through the darkness, of grieving and holding it all in and doubting herself professionally and as a woman most of all, Callum’s passion was a revelation. It was wonderful to just feel for once. Not to have to think. Or be sad. Or have her memories and her second-guessing driving her mad. Isolating her from life.

  His lips on hers, his hand skimming her knickers, pushing up her shirt, pulling aside her other bra cup, exposing her breasts—it all felt so right. Suddenly she wasn’t being tiptoed around, being given knowing, sympathetic looks. She was being treated like a desirable woman. Not with kid gloves but with rough, urgent hands that wanted more. And it felt great.

  And at this moment it didn’t matter that he was still in love with his wife. That he had a little boy. That they worked together. That they weren’t possible. None of the flashing lights mattered. None of his baggage mattered. This wasn’t about long term. About tomorrow. This was about here and now. About being wanted and desired.

  Her hands found their way to his fly. There was no thought to her movements now. She was moving purely on instinct, fuelled by passion. Passion that had been dulled by a train wreck of a relationship and dampened by grief for too long. She heard him moan and any reservations she may have been able to dredge up disappeared as the first button of his fly popped easily at her touch.

  And it would have led heaven knew where had not, at the precise moment Callum’s mouth closed over a nipple and her back arched, Tom let out a blood-curdling scream.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CALLUM pulled away abruptly. It took a few seconds for his nerve endings to deliver the impulses to his brain to realise that something was wrong with Tom.

  Something was wrong with Tom.

  And he was here, getting naked with Hailey? What was he doing? He was Tom’s father. Tom needed him. He pushed himself off her. Somewhere he vaguely thought about his shirt but he was moving without any conscious thought, doing up his fly, backing out of the room.

  Hailey lay stunned on the lounge in a dishevelled heap, trying to gather her thoughts, get up to speed with what had just happened. Her chest heaved and her breath actually hurt. Reality invaded. Sanity returned. Tom. Tom had screamed.

  She sat up, pulling her skirt down, shifting her bra back to its rightful place, adjusting her shirt, her heart still beating a crazy tattoo. She finger-combed her hair, licked her lips, savoured the trace of Callum she tasted there. Oh, God, what the hell had just happened?

  Callum met a hysterical Tom halfway to his bedroom and swept him up into his arms. ‘Tommy! What’s wrong?’

  ‘My ear. My ear,’ Tom sobbed, his hand clutching at his right ear. ‘There’s something walking in my ear.’

  Callum, his pulse pounding through his head, hugged Tom to his chest in a brief, hard embrace. A bug in the ear he could handle. For a moment, in his sluggish lust-drugged brain, he thought the hounds of hell had paid a visit.

  ‘Get it out, get it out,’ Tom cried, shaking his head from side to side.

  Callum kissed Tom’s forehead. ‘OK, Tommy. OK.’

  He strode into the lounge room, Tom still grasping the side of his head.

  ‘What is it?’ Hailey asked, jumping up from the chair. ‘Is he OK?’

  ‘Seems like he has an insect in his ear,’ Callum said. ‘Can you hold him while I get my auroscope and some oil?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said breathily, holding out her arms.

  Callum transferred Tom into Hailey’s waiting arms, his gaze lingering for a second on the swollen fullness of her lips. They exchanged a heated look. He knew he’d be inside her now if they hadn’t been interrupted. How could he have let things get so out of hand?

  ‘Ow, ow, ow,’ Tom cried, pressing his ear hard as he clung to Hailey’s neck.

  ‘It’s OK, baby,’ Hailey crooned, sitting back down on the chair behind her. ‘Wont be long now. Daddy will get it out.’ Tom writhed on her lap and she held him tight, rocking him slowly, dropping kisses on his forehead.

  ‘It’s scratching. It’s scratching,’ he wailed.

  ‘I know. I know,’ she whispered. She’d never had an insect in her ear but she’d nursed a couple of patients who had, and they’d described it as a truly awful expe
rience.

  The insect’s tiny movements were magnified a hundredfold because of the proximity to the eardrum. A noise that would normally need a powerful microphone to hear suddenly sounded like a set of bongo drums going off inside the head. There were plenty of old wives’ tales about people who had been driven mad by insects in the ear, and if Tom’s frantic movement was any indication, she could see why.

  Callum flicked on the main lights as he returned with an auroscope, some long-necked angled forceps, a bottle of olive oil and an eyedropper.

  ‘OK, Tom. Let me have a look in your ear.’

  Hailey sat Tom so he was straddling her lap, his face pressed into her chest, his head turned slightly so Callum had easy access to his son’s right ear. Callum inserted the funnel-shaped earpiece into Tom’s ear canal and looked through the magnified viewfinder. The light of the auroscope shone straight down, illuminating everything.

  ‘Oh, yeah. I see it. A little black bug.’

  Tom cried some more, rubbing his face into Hailey’s shirt.

  ‘Lie down, Tom—let’s get that bug out.’

  ‘Put your head on my lap, sweetie,’ Hailey suggested, and she helped get Tom into position. ‘Lie very, very still.’

  Callum filled the eyedropper with olive oil and gently dripped it into Tom’s ear. Tom whimpered as the warm oil oozed inside.

  ‘It’s OK, Tom,’ Hailey soothed, stroking his forehead. ‘It’ll just feel a little strange.’

  Callum refilled the eyedropper and squirted some more in. The object was to drown the insect or at least weigh its legs down with a viscous substance, thus preventing it from moving around. The oil immediately alleviating the pain of seemingly having the percussion section of an orchestra playing at full throttle in his son’s head.

  Callum was hoping he wouldn’t have to use the angled forceps to remove the insect and as they watched, the black bug floated out of Tom’s ear canal on a surge of olive oil.

  ‘Hey—there it is!’ Callum removed the offending bug, grabbing some tissues out of the box on the coffee-table and placing it on one of them. ‘We got it, Tommy. It’s out.’