Callie couldn’t think of a more perfect way to celebrate. Or to share her very exciting news.
‘What if they have your eyes or hair?’ Blake said, distracting her from her thoughts.
He pulled her in and she felt the warmth right down to her toes, before it quickly turned into a sizzle the moment he began to run his fingers up and down her bare arm.
‘I suppose we’ll have to accept them as they are. It won’t be their fault after all.’ She gave a dramatic sigh, and smiled when Blake laughed.
She loved seeing him like this—relaxed, happy, content. He had become a part of their family so smoothly she sometimes felt that he had always been a part of it. And she wondered where the man who had feared family so much had disappeared to.
‘Look how beautiful it is,’ Blake said, and gestured to the mountain and the ocean they could see from the swing seat. She smiled when she saw the peace settle over him, the way it always did when he looked out onto that view.
‘Are you ready for it?’ she asked quietly, not wanting to be overheard by her brother and sister-in-law.
‘What?’ He followed her eyes with his as she looked at her nephew, and then settled them back on her. ‘I was ready the moment I met you. And then again when you told me you’d marry me. I believe I was willing to start right at that moment.’
She laughed. ‘You were. But there were a few things we needed to sort out first.’
He rolled his eyes—a clear indication of a man who had heard the words before. ‘Yes, I know. We had to set up our operations for the hotels from Cape Town, and then we had to support Connor and Elizabeth during their wedding and Tyler’s birth, and then we had our own wedding.’
‘Exactly. Points to you for remembering.’ She grinned at the amusement in his eyes, and then felt it soften to a smile. ‘But all that’s done now.’
‘Yes—thankfully. So I don’t have to be reminded about it all the time.’
She felt her lips twitch. ‘No, Blake, all that’s done now.’
‘I heard you the first time.’ Blake frowned at her, and then sat up a little straighter. ‘You mean we can start trying for a family?’
‘I mean that it’s happened without us really trying.’ She whispered the words, unsure, even though she knew that this was what they both wanted. ‘I think my body knew about our timeline, too.’
He took a moment to process her words, and then whispered back, ‘Do you think you’re pregnant?’
‘I know I am. The doctor called yesterday.’
* * *
She had barely finished saying the words before Blake pulled her into his arms, needing the contact with her more than he’d thought possible. His heart was exploding, and it was a long time before he let Callie go.
‘Hey, none of that in front of my kid.’
Blake heard Connor’s amusement and smiled, unable even to pretend that he was upset. ‘Well, I think expressions of love are important. Maybe we should start making notes of all the things we’ve learnt from Connor about what to do and what not to do before our baby gets here, honey.’
Connor’s eyes widened. ‘You’re pregnant?’
Blake laughed, and thought he had never felt this good in his life. ‘No, not me personally—but Callie is.’
The announcement was met with laughter and congratulations, and even though he accepted the hugs of his family, even though he toasted his unborn child, he couldn’t take his eyes off Callie. She was radiant, he thought, and saw her blushing every time she caught him looking at her.
It made him love her even more.
When Connor and Elizabeth had left, Callie and Blake moved back to the swing seat in the backyard. It would be a special place to him for ever, he thought. This house where he had finally found a home, where he had finally found himself be a part of a family. This yard where he had celebrated his godson’s first birthday. And now this swing seat, where he had found out he was going to be a father.
‘How have you made every dream of mine come true?’ he asked, his heart filled with the love that overwhelmed him every time he looked at her.
She gave him that soft smile of hers and moved closer to him. ‘We’ve made each other’s dreams come true.’ She laid a hand on his cheek. ‘You’re going to make the best father, Blake Owen.’
‘Our child will have the best parents in the world.’
And then he kissed her, and knew without a doubt that he had finally found his home.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed Therese’s debut book,
and want to indulge with more
working-together romances, make sure you
try the magical Christmas quartet,
MAIDS UNDER THE MISTLETOE!
A COUNTESS FOR CHRISTMAS
by Christy McKellen
GREEK TYCOON’S MISTLETOE PROPOSAL
by Kandy Shepherd
CHRISTMAS IN THE BOSS’S CASTLE
by Scarlet Wilson
HER NEW YEAR BABY SECRET
by Jessica Gilmore
Keep reading for an excerpt from
HER NEW YEAR BABY SECRET
by Jessica Gilmore
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Her New Year Baby Secret
by Jessica Gilmore
CHAPTER ONE
Early December, Chelsea, London
‘WAIT! STOP! OH, NO...’ Sophie Bradshaw skidded to a halt and watched the bus sail past her, the driver utterly oblivious to her outstretched hand. ‘Just great,’ she muttered, pulling her cardigan more closely around her and turning, careful not to slip on the icy pavement, to scan the arrivals board in the bus stop, hoping against hope the next bus wasn’t too far behind.
She huffed out a sigh of disappointment. Tonight London buses were definitely not running in pairs—she would have to wait twenty minutes until the next one. And, to add insult to injury, the light snowflakes that had been falling in a picturesque fashion over Chelsea’s well-heeled streets all evening had decided to pick up both speed and strength and were now dancing dizzily through the air, blown here and there by some decidedly icy gusts of wind. Sophie eyed a taxi longingly. Would it hurt? Just this once? Only, last time she’d checked, she had only forty pounds left in her bank account, there was still a week to go until payday and, crucially, she still hadn’t bought any Christmas presents.
She’d
just have to wait and hope her best friend, and fellow waitress, Ashleigh, joined her soon so that she could forget her freezing hands and sore feet in a good gossip about the evening’s event. Sophie hadn’t received one thank you in the three hours she had toted a laden tray around the expensively dressed party-goers, but she had experienced several jostlings, three toe-tramplings and one pat on her bottom. It was a good thing her hands had been occupied in balancing the tray or the bottom patter might have found himself wearing the stuffed prawns, which would have been momentarily satisfying but probably not the best career move.
Sophie shivered as another icy gust blew through the bus shelter and straight through her inadequate if seasonally appropriate sparkly cardigan. Why hadn’t she brought a coat, a proper grown-up coat with a hood and a warm lining and a waterproof outer layer? ‘Vanity, thy name is Sophie,’ she muttered. Well, she was getting her just reward now; nothing shrieked high-end fashion like the ‘frozen drowned rat’ look.
Huddling down into the cardigan, she turned, hoping once more to see her friend, but there was still no sign of Ashleigh and Sophie’s phone was out of battery—again. The snow-covered street was eerily deserted, as if she were alone in the world. She blinked, hot unwanted tears filling her eyes. It wasn’t just that she was cold, or that she was tired. It was that feeling of being invisible, no more human or worthy of attention than the platters she held, less interesting than the cocktails she had been handing out.
She swallowed, resolutely blinking back the tears. Don’t be a baby, she scolded herself. So her job was hard work? At least she had a job and she was lucky enough to work with some lovely people. So her flat was so small she couldn’t offer Ashleigh even a temporary home? At least she had a flat—and, even better, an almost affordable flat right here in Chelsea. Well, ‘right here’ being a twenty-minute bus ride away to the unfashionable edges of Chelsea, but it was all hers.
So she was a little lonely? Far, far better to be lonely alone than lonely with someone else. She knew that all too well.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as if she could physically banish her dark thoughts, but her chest still ached with a yearning for something more than the narrow existence she had lived since moving to London just over a year and a half ago. The narrow existence she’d trapped herself in long before that. What must it be like to be a guest at one of the many glittering parties and events she worked at? To wear colour and shine, not stay demure and unnoticed in black and white?
With a sigh she looked around once more, hoping that the bright smile and can-do attitude of her old friend might help her shake this sudden and unwanted melancholy, but although the snow fell thicker and faster than ever there was still no sign of Ashleigh. Nor was there any sign of the bus. The board in the shelter was resolutely sticking to an arrival in twenty minutes’ time, even though at least five long minutes had already passed...
Sophie blew on her hands and thought of the warm, inviting glow of the hotel lobby just a few metres behind her. She was staff—and temporary staff at that—but surely, after a night run off her feet catering to some of the most arrogant ignoramuses she had ever had the misfortune to waitress for, they wouldn’t mind her sheltering inside for just a few minutes? Besides, a snowstorm changed the rules, everyone knew that. Even a posh hotel turned into Scrooge after the three ghosts had visited, welcoming to one and all. And it would be easier to keep a lookout for Ashleigh if she wasn’t constantly blinking snow out of her eyes...
Mind made up, Sophie stepped cautiously away from the limited shelter of the bus stop and onto the increasingly snowy pavement, her feet sinking with a definite crunch in the snow as she began to walk back towards the lobby. She kept her head down against the chill, picking up speed as she neared the door, and warmth was in sight when she collided with a tall figure, her heel slipping as she did so. With a surprised yelp Sophie teetered, arms windmilling as she fought to remain upright, refusing to surrender to the inevitable crash but knowing that any millisecond now she would fall...
Just as she started to lose the battle a strong hand grasped her elbow and pulled her upright. Sophie looked up, startled, and found herself staring into a pair of the darkest brown eyes she had ever seen, framed with long thick lashes. ‘Careful! It’s snowing. You could hurt someone—or yourself if you don’t look where you’re going.’
Italian, she thought dreamily. She had been saved by an Italian man with beautiful eyes. Then his sharp tone permeated the fog in her brain and she stepped back, sharply moving away from his steadying grasp.
‘Snowing? So that’s what this white cold stuff is. Thank you for clearing that up.’ She stopped, the anger disappearing as quickly as it came as shock flared up on his face—followed by the ghost of a smile. It was a very attractive ghost; he was probably rather gorgeous when he relaxed. Not relevant, Sophie. More to the point, she had bumped into him. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right, I wasn’t looking where I was going. I just wanted to get inside before I turned into the little match girl. I’ve had to admit defeat on finding transport. It’s looking like I’m going to have to walk home...’ She looked ruefully down at her black heels. They were surprisingly comfortable—comfortable enough for her to wear them to work—but patent court shoes probably weren’t high on most Arctic explorers’ kit lists.
‘Typical London, just a few flakes of snow and the taxis disappear.’
Sophie didn’t want to contradict him and point out that there was a little more than a drop of snow—several inches more in fact—or that she wasn’t actually looking for a taxi but for a far more prosaic bus. ‘It’s always the same when it snows,’ she said airily, as if she were a real Londoner, blasé about everything, even the fairy-tale scene unfolding before her, but instantly ruined the effect by shivering.
‘And you’ve come out inappropriately dressed.’ The disapproval was back in his voice, but before Sophie could react, he shrugged off his expensive-looking coat and wrapped it around her. ‘You’ll catch pneumonia if you’re not careful.’
Pride warred with her frozen limbs and lost. ‘I... Thank you... Although,’ she couldn’t help adding, ‘it wasn’t actually snowing when I left home.’ She snuggled into the coat. The lining felt like silk and there was a distinct scent on the collar, a fresh citrus scent, sharp and very male, rather like the smartly tailored man standing in front of her. She held out her hand, just the tips of her fingers visible, peeking out of the long coat sleeves. ‘Sophie Bradshaw.’
‘Marco Santoro.’ He took her outstretched hand and, at his touch, a fizz of attraction shivered up Sophie’s spine.
She swallowed, shocked by the sudden sensation. It had been far too long since she’d had that kind of reaction and it unnerved her.
Unnerved her—but she couldn’t deny a certain thrill of exhilaration too, and almost without meaning to she smiled up at him, holding his gaze boldly even as his eyes darkened with interest.
‘I must be holding you up,’ she said, searching for something interesting to say but settling on the banal, unsettled by the speculative look in his eyes. ‘I should give you your coat back, thank you for coming to my rescue and let you get on your way.’ But she couldn’t quite bring herself to return the coat, not when she was so blissfully warm. Not when she was so very aware of every shifting expression on his rather-nice-to-look-at face with cheekbones cut like glaciers, the dark stubble a little too neat to be five o’clock shadow. She also rather approved of the suit, which enhanced, rather than hung off or strained over, his tall lean body. She did like a man who knew how to dress...
* * *
She’d given him the perfect getaway clause. One moment of chivalry could have marooned him here with this sharp-tongued girl for the rest of the evening. All he had to do was say thank you, retrieve his coat and be on his way. The words hovered on his tongue, but Marco paused. There was something he rather liked about her defiantly pointed
, uptilted chin, the combative spark in her blue eyes. It was a nice contrast to the tedium that had made up his evening so far.
‘Take your time and warm up. I’m in no hurry. The fresh air is just what I needed after being in there.’ He gestured behind him to The Chelsea Grand. ‘I was at the most overcrowded, overheated party imaginable.’
‘Me too! Wasn’t it awful?’
‘Unbearable. What a shame I didn’t see you in there. It would have brightened up a dull evening. No one ever enjoys these Export Alliance affairs, but it’s necessary to show willing, don’t you think?’
Her eyes flickered. ‘Oh, yes, I hope the evening wasn’t too much of a bore.’
Marco deliberately didn’t answer straight away, running his gaze over Sophie assessingly. She was a little under average height, with silky blonde hair caught up in a neat twist. Her eyes were a clear blue, her mouth full. She wasn’t as poised as his usual type, but then again he was bored of his usual type, hence the last six months’ dating detox. And fate did seem to have brought them together; who was he to argue with fate? He smiled straight into her eyes. ‘For a while there I thought it was. But now, maybe, it has...possibilities.’
With interest he watched her absorb his words, his meaning, colour flushing high and quick on her pale cheeks. She stepped back. ‘Well, it was lovely meeting you, Mr Santoro, but I really should try to get back before I need a team of huskies to whisk me home. Thank you so much for lending me your coat. I think I’m warm enough to risk another five minutes looking for transport.’
‘Or,’ he suggested, ‘we could wait out the storm in the comfort of a bar.’ There, the gauntlet was thrown; it was up to her to take it or not.
He rather hoped she would.
Sophie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Marco could practically see the arguments running through her mind. She didn’t know him. It was snowing and impossible to get home. What harm could one drink do? Was she acknowledging the sizzle of chemistry in the air? That indefinable quality that stopped him from taking his coat and walking away, that stopped her from saying a flat no. He could almost smell it, rich and ripe.
The Tycoon's Reluctant Cinderella Page 17
