Bound by Their Christmas Baby

by Clare Connelly

  His own body stirred in response, but his curiosity over what had upset her was greater. ‘You were having a nightmare.’

  ‘Was I?’ Her eyes flicked away from his, a small frown playing about her lips. He dropped a finger to them, touching her gently. ‘That happens sometimes.’

  That adrenaline response was back. ‘Does it?’

  ‘Not for a long time.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It started when my mom died.’

  Gabe dropped onto the pillow beside her, propping himself on one elbow so he could see her face. ‘Are the nightmares about your mother?’

  ‘Yes and no.’ She slid her gaze to him warily. ‘She’s always in them, but out of reach. Like watching me from behind a window or talking to me but when I look for her I can’t find her. Does that make sense?’

  He shrugged. ‘Dreams rarely do.’

  ‘I haven’t had one in a long time.’ She swallowed. ‘But I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. She would have loved Raf, you know.’

  He smiled, but inside he felt as if she’d hit him hard. No, not her, it was life. He didn’t want his wife to be miserable; he didn’t want her to be mourning a mother she’d so obviously loved. He couldn’t fix that, though. Death was life’s most final act—what could be done to remedy it?

  ‘Do you…?’ Abby swallowed. ‘You must miss your mother.’

  Gabe shrugged a single shoulder. ‘I miss the role she might have played in my life.’

  ‘It must have been so hard for you.’ Abby lifted a hand and traced an invisible circle on his shoulder, almost against her will. ‘To have seen your mother so miserable, to have known your father to be the cause…’

  ‘She was the cause,’ he said softly. ‘She should have seen what he was doing to her and fled. She should have taken whatever money he’d given her and left him, and started a new life.’

  ‘Starting a new life isn’t easy. And it sounds like your father led her on, like he led her to believe he might love her too.’

  ‘Yes.’ Gabe’s eyes sparkled with renewed determination. He was nothing like his own father—he had never led Abby on. In this way, they were vitally different.

  ‘Go to sleep, tempesta. And try to make your dreams sweet.’

  And though she had a habit of creeping to her own bed in the middle of the night, he slid his arm beneath her, rolling her onto his chest so he could feel her breathing and hold her tight. He couldn’t bring her mother back to life but, with any luck, he could forestall the nightmares.

  That, at least, was within his power.

  * * *

  Gabe stared out of his study window without seeing the vista. He was used to it and, despite the fact he had, once upon a time, thought this to be the most beautiful place on earth, he had grown accustomed to its charms now. Did that diminish it, somehow?

  He had also grown accustomed to having Abby in his bed. He was used to all of her belonging to him, utterly and completely, though it had only been days since his return from Rome.

  She didn’t hide how much she wanted him, and he was glad for that.

  He had worried she would mistake their chemistry and marriage for love, but she seemed to understand that theirs was a transaction and only certain parts of him were on the table.

  But at night, oh, how he craved her.

  He doubted that need would ever fade, his appreciation for her curves and undulations unlikely to diminish with exposure.

  In fact, the opposite was true. The more that he was with her, the more he wanted her. He woke up aching to pull her close, but with the sun’s rise came the reality of their situation and everything shifted between them. She pulled away from him, presenting him with a cool smile and a terse nod, showering in her own en suite bathroom, away from him, away from his touch and kiss and eyes that were hungry for more glimpses of her beautiful body.

  She spent much of her time with Raf, even just reading in his room. He knew because Monique had become worried for Abby.

  ‘She seems distracted and tired. She doesn’t need to exhaust herself with the baby—she must have more important things to do! Weddings don’t plan themselves.’

  But Abby had no interest in planning a wedding.

  She had told him outright that she was happy to organise things, but that her preference was for as small a ceremony as possible, just the two of them and Raf, with a couple of domestics as witnesses. No guests, no dinner. When he’d suggested a honeymoon she’d blanched and pointed out in a brittle voice that they were already living as a married couple. Besides, she’d added with a poor attempt at a smile, where in the world could they go more idyllic than the castle?

  He’d analysed the feeling low in his abdomen for days, wondering at its root cause, but now he had to admit it. He was ill at ease.

  He’d brought Abigail to Italy with the belief that it would be best for her, and him, as well as Raf, and she seemed to be fading away before his eyes. She’d thrown herself into the Christmas spirit, adding little touches throughout the house, like green garlands along the staircase, the Christmas tree she’d decorated with the lone bauble, food that she baked that had an unmistakably Christmas aroma. That had been the only sign she was settling into life in Italy. That she was making her peace with being here, with him.

  What had she said the day they’d argued about Hughie? He’s nice to me…

  Something uncomfortable shifted inside Gabe. Nice? He wasn’t sure he knew how to be nice. He wasn’t sure he knew how to be anything Abby needed.

  A knock at his door roused him from his thoughts. He turned around, expecting to see one of his staff. Only it was Abby and, as always, his body responded instantly to her appearance. His blood began to rush through him, tightening him, making him throb and ache for her anew, and his eyes ran over her hungrily, needily, desperately.

  She blushed beneath his inspection.

  ‘Am I interrupting?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He indicated the seat opposite him, but she shook her head.

  ‘This won’t take long.’

  ‘What is it?’ He came around to the opposite side of the desk and propped his hips against it. He saw the way her eyes darted to his haunches and the way his trousers had strained across the muscles there, and something like relief filled him.

  She wanted him.

  And she always would. In bed, she wasn’t cold—ever. She begged for him and dragged her nails down his back and nipped at his flesh; in bed she was a fever in his blood, because that same fever raged in her blood.

  It wasn’t nice. It was so much better.

  ‘I know Raf is only little, but this will be his first Christmas and I want it to be special. He won’t remember it, I know,’ she rushed on, countering her sentimentality before he could. That she knew him so well worried him.

  ‘But he’ll have photos—we can have photos, I mean, get them framed and put them in his room. You want him to have a family—’ now she forced her eyes to his and he felt their defiance ‘—and I do too. I want him to know we’ve been a family since he was born.’

  He nodded thoughtfully.

  He’d been doing that a lot lately.

  Thinking.

  Thinking about Abby and the things she’d said. She was like a fever in his blood and he resented her for that, even while knowing it was hardly her fault. He simply had to try harder to regain control of the situation.

  ‘Anyway—’ she was awkward ‘—I wondered if I could somehow get to Fiamatina today, or tomorrow, to buy him a little gift.’ Colour filled her cheeks, two dots of pink on either side of her lips. ‘I don’t mean anything grand, just a book or a little toy. He doesn’t need much, obviously. It’s more about giving him something we can keep for him.’

  Gabe was struck by this—more so by the fact it hadn’t even occurred to him, despite the way she’d turned his house into Santa’s Grotto,
that Christmas might mean something to Abby. That, unlike his terrible memories of this time of year, she might actually want to mark the day in a manner that was different to any other.

  ‘Fiamatina.’ He jerked his head. ‘I’ll take you.’ And if he had any luck he’d find the perfect present for her. She should have something to open, seeing as the day meant so much to her.

  ‘Oh!’ Her surprise was obvious, so too her dismissal. ‘You don’t have to take me. You’re busy. I can drive.’

  He laughed, a grim rejection of that idea. ‘Do you have any experience of driving on snow or ice, Abigail?’

  Her eyes met his, annoyance brimming in their depths. At least that was better than coldness. ‘No, but I’ll be careful.’

  ‘You must be mad if you think I would let you risk your life like that.’

  ‘You must be mad if you think I’d ever do anything dangerous, that I wasn’t capable of. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘I intend to make sure of it.’ He put a hand at the crook of her elbow. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Have I told you how bossy you are?’

  ‘I think so.’

  She glared at him. ‘You’re busy and I have to learn to drive here at some point—’

  ‘Perhaps. But not today.’

  She fired him a fulminating glare and he ignored the jolt of pleasure in his gut. The relief of seeing her emotional response. He’d take her anger over ice-coldness any day of the week.

  He liked her being emotional; he liked knowing he’d caused that. He was addicted to it.

  With a throaty sound of need, he curved his hand from her elbow to her back, pulling her to him, and when her eyes flew wide in surprise and her lips parted on a gasp he kissed her, pushing her back against the door to his office, his body holding hers.

  She was his in an instant, her hands lifting to link behind his head, her hips moving, swaying in time to their kiss and the sensual fog that always pursued them.

  She was wearing a dress, thank God, as opposed to her usual jeans, and he lifted it desperately, finding the sweet curve of her bottom, cupping it in his hands and lifting her so that her legs wrapped around his waist and his arousal pressed hard to her, hungry for her as always.

  He spoke in Italian, words he couldn’t have recalled later, words that came from deep within him, whispering them in her ear as his fingers pushed her underwear aside and found the heart of her warmth, sliding inside her until she bucked against him.

  ‘Please,’ she groaned, breaking the kiss to look into his eyes. ‘I need you, Gabe. I need this. Please.’

  He understood and it was instinct alone that pushed him, his hands freeing his arousal from his trousers, just enough to take her, to hold her to him, to bind them together.

  She was panting against him, kissing him frantically, her hands running over his shoulders and arms, her body trembling until finally they both exploded in unison, one singular, perfect release for the tempesta that had been raging between them—and probably always would.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Abby murmured as sanity began to seep back into her passion-addled brain. ‘What just happened?’

  Gabe straightened, his smile one of such indulgence that her heart tripped heavily inside her. ‘Well, we’ve done it before. Quite often. I presumed you understood…’

  ‘We didn’t use protection.’ She dipped her head so that her forehead was pressed to his shoulder. ‘That was so stupid.’

  ‘Stupid? I can think of other words to describe it.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she groaned. ‘I’m not on any form of contraception.’

  Comprehension dawned, but apparently produced a very different reaction for Gabe. ‘So?’ he asked, a brow lifted. ‘Then we have another baby.’

  ‘Another baby?’ Her words were a sharp rejection of the idea. She pushed away from him, placing her feet on the ground and straightening her dress with fingers that shook. Panic seared her belly.

  ‘Yes, another baby. Two more. Three more. We already have Raf. We’re getting married. Why not more children?’

  ‘How can you be so cavalier about this?’

  ‘Calm down, tempesta. You’re acting as though this is the worst thing in the world. You don’t even know if there will be any…complications…’

  ‘It would be the worst thing in the world!’ Abby shouted, the stress and the confusion of the last few weeks beginning to mount inside her, so that she was pale, her eyes flashing with emotion.

  In contrast, Gabe was completely frozen, his expression like granite. ‘Why, may I ask, is that?’

  She bit down on her lip and looked over his shoulder. How could she explain how she felt? How could she put into words the misgivings she had? About this wedding, their marriage, the ability to raise Raf in a way that wouldn’t completely mess him up? Another baby would be heaven on earth if they were a real couple. ‘It’s irresponsible to bring another baby into this environment,’ she said crisply. ‘Raf happened, and we’re getting married to give him a family. But there’s no sense compounding that with any more children. Raf is enough.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GABE USED VOICE-COMMAND to call his best friend.

  ‘Noah?’ His voice was gruff when the call connected.

  ‘Gabe. What’s up?’

  Gabe swallowed, staring at his desk. An excellent question.

  ‘I just wanted to see how you are,’ he lied anxiously. Noah had enough going on in his life—he didn’t need Gabe adding to it.

  ‘Fine. I’m cured, remember?’

  Gabe frowned. The therapy he’d made Noah enter might have been paying dividends. But wasn’t it too soon? Gabe silenced the doubts. He wanted to believe his foster brother was improving. He wanted to feel some degree of relief.

  ‘I’m glad.’ Gabe sighed heavily. ‘I’m…’ He clamped his lips together. What did he want to say? I’m getting married. No. Too problematic. Noah would want to know what the hell had happened. Gabe had sworn until he was blue in the face that he would never marry. He’d promised himself repeatedly that emotional commitments were for fools; he’d sworn to be smart.

  And he was being smart. This marriage wasn’t about emotion.

  ‘Do you ever wonder what the Sloanes are doing?’

  ‘Those bastards? No. I never think of them.’ The anger in Noah’s voice made a liar of him. Their foster family had influenced both their lives, no matter how they wished that weren’t the case.

  Gabe pushed back in the leather chair, his eyes closed.

  ‘Why? Do you?’

  Gabe frowned. ‘I was with them a lot longer. They’re almost the only family I remember.’ The words were defensive and immediately a response came to him. He saw, in his mind’s eye, the mother of his son. The woman he would marry. And his gut twisted. He’d been given a family at birth—a father who didn’t want him, a mother who resented him.

  He’d been taken in by a family—they hadn’t wanted him either.

  And now? A sense of unease tripped through him. Being unwanted was the running theme of his life—and now he was marrying a woman who wanted more than he could give her. He was marrying a woman who deserved more.

  ‘They were bastards,’ Noah grunted. ‘I hope they got what was coming to them.’

  Gabe’s lips compressed. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You always were a soft touch.’

  At that, Gabe laughed. If only Noah knew what he was about to do. Abby had been cast out of her life, left pregnant and impoverished, abandoned by her father, orphaned by her mother, and he’d strong-armed her at every point. He’d swept aside her objections. He’d insisted on this—and he’d been right. Marriage was the only option. But suddenly the idea of joining himself legally to Abby seemed absurd. She didn’t want him, not as he was, and he didn’t want her. Did he?

  They’d slept together a lon
g time ago, and that had been a mistake. She had used him, she had lied to him, she had gone to him specifically to further her father’s business interests. He had no business wanting her—other than physically.

  This marriage wasn’t about anything other than practicality, and giving their son what he deserved, just like Abigail had said. Raf wouldn’t grow up wondering about his father, resenting his father, hating his father. He wouldn’t feel for Gabe as Gabe had for Lorenzo. No, Raf would feel loved. He would feel cherished and he would feel wanted.

  And he just had to hope he wouldn’t ruin Abby’s life in the process. No matter what she’d done, no matter how he told himself he’d never forgive her, he knew the truth. He didn’t want to hurt her; he didn’t want to ruin her life.

  He wasn’t his father, he reminded himself, even when his doubts made his conviction waver. They would marry and Gabe would make sure she had a good life. A great life.

  He wouldn’t be the kind of husband she wanted nor deserved, but eventually she’d get over that. Wouldn’t she?

  * * *

  Christmas morning at the castle was spectacular in all ways but one. Snow had begun to fall overnight and Hughie, who’d gone home to see his family, wasn’t around to clear it, which meant the place seemed even more magical than ever, as though it had risen from the edge of the mountains. A little family of squirrels ran across the field and Abby watched them, an enchanted smile on her face as they scampered up a tree. As for their Christmas tree, the lights glistened in the early morning sunshine as the smell of coffee filled the hall.

  Raf slept in a bassinet at Abby’s feet as she lost herself to the pages of Persuasion—her favourite of all the Austens. There was something about Captain Wentworth’s enduring love for Anne Elliot that had always spoken to her.

  No doubt, Gabe would accuse her of over-sentimentality, but she had always adored the idea of such permanence. The idea that years spent apart, with one at war and the other marooned by a cold, unemotional family, couldn’t destroy true love.