Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery

by Sarah Morgan

  And now she had to work out a way to unravel the mess, but she couldn’t concentrate on anything while he was staring at her. Those deep blue eyes made her mouth dry and her heart bumped against her chest. At one point during their fantasy night she’d even felt pleased that he’d left the light on because it had meant she could stare at him and marvel that such an indecently handsome man was in bed with her.

  She should have known it was too good to be true.

  Realising how naive she’d been, Hayley wanted to hide herself in a hole.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to her that he might be married?

  She was stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Of course a man as gorgeous as him was going to be married.

  She’d chased all the way from Chicago to follow a dream that didn’t even exist. It was too embarrassing for words.

  For him it had just been a one-night stand. Hot sex. This was the twenty-first century—the divorce rate was higher than ever and people’s priorities had changed. Her friends had short, meaningless relationships, didn’t they? Some even boasted about it—as if the ability to have sex without feeling was something to be proud of. A sign of the times. Progression. People did it all the time.

  Other people.

  Not her. She was out of step. And that was the reason she was here, instead of just filing the night away in her memory.

  Alfie was looking at her anxiously. ‘You came because of the advert.’

  ‘That’s right.’ And she’d been excited by the prospect of spending Christmas with a family other than hers.

  ‘You answered the advert?’ Patrick gave a faint frown, as if he found that surprising. Then he gave a little shrug. ‘In that case, why are we all standing on the doorstep? Let’s show you the kittens.’

  ‘Kittens?’ It was Hayley’s turn to look confused. ‘What kittens?’

  ‘Our kittens. The kittens in the advert.’ Patrick pushed the sleeves of his jumper up his forearms in a casual gesture that made her stomach curl with desire.

  How could a man’s arms be sexy? Those dark hairs were like a declaration of his masculinity. And why did he have to have such a good body? She’d spent an entire night exploring every muscular curve of his powerful physique.

  Reminding herself that his wife probably did the same thing all the time, Hayley dragged her eyes away from his arms and his body and focused on the tumbled blonde curls of his daughter. His daughter. If looking at her didn’t kill her libido, nothing would. He wasn’t available. He’d never been available. Even for that one special night, he hadn’t been hers.

  ‘I don’t know anything about kittens.’ If he was making up some story to satisfy his son, she wished he’d at least make it plausible.

  ‘You said you answered the advert,’ he said patiently, and Hayley wondered why he was trying to make her look stupid.

  ‘I did. The advert asked for a live-in housekeeper over Christmas. Someone to cook a turkey.’

  ‘I didn’t advertise for a housekeeper.’

  ‘I spoke to you a few hours ago.’ How could a man look so good dressed in faded jeans and a black jumper? ‘I asked you about the children. You told me that you had two—a boy and a girl.’ He’d look good in anything, she decided. And nothing.

  His eyes were narrow and assessing. ‘We were talking about the kittens,’ he breathed. ‘We have kittens that need a good home. A boy and a girl—which is what I put in the advert. No mention of a housekeeper. Nothing about turkeys.’

  He was going to pretend he didn’t know?

  Hayley dug in her pocket and pulled out the crumpled advert. ‘Here.’ She pushed it into his hand, noticing that the little girl had inherited her father’s killer blue eyes. ‘Someone who knows how to cook a turkey—that’s what it says.’

  ‘Can I see that?’ His fingers brushed against hers and that touch was sufficient to ignite the same powerful chemistry that had made her forget morals, common sense and her own rules and spend the night with a stranger.

  Determined to look as indifferent as he did, Hayley yanked her hand away and pushed it into the pocket of her coat. If her hands were in her coat then she couldn’t give way to the temptation and touch him, could she?

  ‘I don’t know anything about this advert.’ He scanned it swiftly, a puzzled frown on his face. ‘It’s our phone number, but—’ His voice tailed off and he slowly turned his head and looked at his son, his blue eyes suddenly dark with suspicion. ‘Is this the reason you’ve been so jumpy all day?’

  Pinned by his father’s sharp, questioning gaze, Alfie shrank against the door. ‘I can explain…’

  Patrick was ominously still. ‘I’m waiting.’

  Alfie fiddled with his sweatshirt and gave an audible gulp. ‘Uncle Dan was placing that advert for the kittens when you were away having that interview in Chicago and he was looking after us. He kept saying, “Problem solved,” and I thought if we got ourselves a housekeeper, that would be another problem solved.’

  ‘Are you saying that Uncle Daniel placed this advert for a housekeeper?’

  Alfie stared up at his father in silence, apparently frozen to the spot. ‘No.’ His denial was a tiny squeak. ‘That was me. I did it. It wasn’t Uncle Dan.’

  Hayley wondered why the child’s mother couldn’t cook the turkey. Was she hopeless in the kitchen? Or maybe super-stud kept her too busy in the bedroom, she thought miserably. Or perhaps his wife thought cooking was beneath her, like her stepsister did.

  Hayley watched as Patrick gradually coaxed the truth from his son. She sensed that he was angry—he had to be angry—and she braced herself for him to yell.

  Suddenly she couldn’t bear it.

  The little boy was so sweet, he didn’t deserve to be yelled at by a father who couldn’t keep his trousers zipped.

  But Patrick didn’t yell. Instead, he hunkered down in front of his son. ‘You advertised for a housekeeper over Christmas?’

  ‘We need someone, Dad,’ the boy blurted out. ‘You’re good with babies, but you’re hopeless with turkeys. And the rest of the Christmas stuff. And you’re bound to be called to the hospital because you always are and then you’ll call Mrs Thornton—and I hate Mrs Thornton. Her lips are too red. It’s like she’s drunk blood or something.’ The child glanced at Hayley and she gave a sympathetic shrug.

  ‘That can happen with red lipstick,’ she muttered. ‘You have to be really careful with the shade. I once had one that made me look as though I’d been punched in the face. Hopeless.’

  Alfie gave a delighted laugh while Patrick looked at her with incredulous disbelief.

  Hayley stiffened defensively. ‘What?’ She was fed up with him looking at her as though she was from another planet. ‘I happen to agree with Alfie. Red is a very dodgy shade. And, anyway, whoever wears red lipstick for babysitting?’

  ‘She wears it because she fancies my dad,’ Alfie told her, and Hayley rolled her eyes.

  Another one?

  The man was even having sex with the babysitter. Had he no shame?

  ‘Can we get back to the subject?’ His voice slightly tighter than it had been a few moments earlier, Patrick ran his hand over the back of his neck and turned his attention back to his son.

  ‘Where did you get the money for the advert?’

  He would have made a good interrogator, Hayley thought moodily, remembering how much information she’d given him during their day and night together. Every time he’d looked at her with those sexy blue eyes, she’d divulged another personal detail.

  Alfie’s face was scarlet. It was obvious that he hated being in the wrong.

  Hayley knew that feeling.

  ‘Uncle Dan left his credit card by the phone,’ the child mumbled, and Patrick’s mouth tightened.

  ‘And you took it?’

  ‘If he was careless enough to leave it lying around then he can’t complain if it was abused,’ Hayley said firmly, glaring at Patrick as he sent her a slow, fulminating look. Really, he was hardly in a position t
o be self-righteous, was he?

  He turned back to Alfie, who was gazing at Hayley as though she were a lifebelt and his father was a giant wave. ‘I’ll pay him back, Dad. I promise. I’ll clear snow or something and earn some money.’

  ‘How could you place an advert? Didn’t the newspaper know you were a child?’

  ‘They asked me how old I was and I made a joke of it. I said my dad had no idea how to cook a turkey and I needed an expert.’

  ‘So if she rightly insisted on checking with a grown-up, how did this advert…’ Patrick waved the cutting slowly ‘…end up in the paper?’

  ‘Uncle Daniel walked back into the room and I told him he needed to just say that the advert was all fine.’ Alfie swallowed. ‘And he did that. He wasn’t concentrating. Posy was coughing really badly. He thought he was confirming the kitten advert.’

  Patrick scanned the crumpled, torn newspaper in his hand. ‘Instead of which he confirmed an advert for a housekeeper to come and spend Christmas with us.’

  ‘I thought if it worked out all right, you’d be pleased,’ Alfie confessed in a small voice. ‘And then when I woke up today, I wasn’t so sure. I thought you might be angry. Are you really angry, Dad?’ Alfie looked so forlorn that Hayley’s spine stiffened at the injustice of it.

  Poor Alfie.

  She glared at the back of Patrick’s head, determined not to notice his cropped dark hair. Who cared if he looked macho? And good shoulders weren’t everything, were they? He was a snake. How dared he give his son that you’ve-disappointed-me-with-your-behaviour look, while betraying his marriage vows in every empty bed he could find, and with a woman who had no taste in lipstick.

  Hayley was about to leap passionately to Alfie’s defence when Patrick tugged the boy into his arms.

  ‘How can I be angry when it’s my fault for being so lousy at cooking Christmas dinner?’ His tone gruff, he released his son and ruffled his hair. ‘I like the fact you saw a problem and tried to solve it. And I’m proud that you used your initiative.’ He spoke quietly, keeping the conversation between him and his son. ‘I also like the fact that you’ve been honest with me and not tried to duck out of it. But it was wrong of you to use Uncle Daniel’s credit card, Alfie. That was stealing. We’ll need to talk about that later.’

  Hayley subsided slightly, although she was still simmering at his devoted dad act. Devoted dads didn’t take advantage of their sex appeal, did they? Devoted dads weren’t supposed to turn into sex gods in their spare time.

  Patrick straightened and looked her directly in the eye and Hayley glared back, hoping he couldn’t read her mind and wishing she could look as cool and unflustered as he did.

  ‘There’s been a mistake.’ As his eyes flickered to her mouth she wondered exactly which mistake he was referring to—the advert, or the night they’d spent together.

  ‘I can see that. You obviously don’t want a housekeeper so I’ll leave you to cook your own turkey and I hope you find a good home for the kittens.’ Trying to maintain her dignity, she picked up her bags and smiled at Alfie. ‘You have a lovely Christmas. I hope Santa brings you everything you want.’

  Proud of the way she’d handled herself so far, Hayley knew that what she needed to do next was turn and walk away, but walking on snow hadn’t been a great success so far, had it? And, anyway, where was she supposed to walk to? They were in the middle of the countryside with snow-capped mountains behind them and the stream in full flood only a few steps away. If she stalked off here, her body would be discovered frozen in the morning encased in a layer of ice and very possibly washed into the next valley. And dignity and hypothermia were definitely incompatible. ‘Go back inside. It’s freezing. I’ll call a taxi.’ Hopefully before his wife emerged to see what was going on.

  At least he didn’t know she’d come here specifically to see him.

  That was one small consolation.

  ‘You can’t go!’ Alfie sounded horrified. ‘And we do need a housekeeper. Dad can’t cook a turkey, honestly. And if you leave, you won’t be able to surprise your friend. Remember? You told me that on the phone. You said you were coming over to surprise a special friend and you needed somewhere to live while you tracked him down.’

  Oh, no. No, no, no.

  Feeling Patrick’s gaze on her face, Hayley wanted to throw herself into the stream. Her impetuous nature had got her into some embarrassing situations in the past, but none quite so embarrassing as this one.

  It was almost as bad as that day at school when she’d discovered that her stepbrother had planted a camera in the girls’ showers.

  All she needed now was for Patrick to produce her knickers from his pocket and her humiliation would be complete.

  He leaned against the doorframe, watching her. ‘You came here to look for…someone?’ His pause was significant and Hayley felt her face fire up to a shade that probably matched the dreadful Mrs Thornton’s vampire lipstick.

  How dared he look amused? Obviously he was a sadist as well as being hugely insensitive. And an adulterer. This situation was about as amusing as discovering you were the only one in fancy dress and everyone else was in black tie. As the list of his crimes grew longer, Hayley grew more affronted.

  ‘I’m not looking for anyone. I mean—I might have been, originally, yes…’ She knew she was babbling incoherently, but all hope of a smooth response had deserted her. ‘My friend let me down.’ She looked at him pointedly and saw his eyes narrow slightly. ‘So I won’t be looking for him.’

  ‘Is that right?’ His soft drawl was as annoying as his blank expression and Hayley wondered whether falling face down in the snow would put out the fire in her cheeks.

  Deciding that she needed to make her exit no matter how undignified, Hayley started to back away but Alfie grabbed her arm.

  ‘No, I won’t let you go! Dad, tell her she has to stay! I know you didn’t put the advert in, but she’s here now and think how great it would be to have someone helping over Christmas. Dad? Say something.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE had the sexiest mouth he’d ever kissed.

  Not beautiful—her mouth was too wide to qualify for beautiful—but soft, full and with a slight pout that made a man think the most basic, primitive thoughts. And then there was the tiny dimple in the corner that was so deliciously feminine. Suddenly Patrick wished life wasn’t so complicated. All he wanted to do was throw her over his shoulder and carry her up to his bed.

  The fact that she was flustered, embarrassed and visibly angry with him did nothing to cool his libido. Far from it. It just reminded him how refreshingly open she was with people. He’d seen that from the first moment they’d met—been intrigued by just how much she’d divulged about herself as she’d shown him around the hospital.

  He even found her slightly ungainly battle with the ice appealing. The fact that she didn’t seem fully in control of her legs simply reminded him that she had incredible legs. Incredibly long legs.

  A vivid image of exactly how long her legs were brought a groan to his lips but he managed to stifle it. Why did everything about her make him think of sex?

  He remembered the moment when she’d landed flat on her back in the snow. For an unsettling moment, the contrast between her dark hair and the white powder had reminded him of how she’d looked against the sheets in his hotel room and he’d been on the verge of lowering himself on top of her and doing what he was burning to do when Alfie had disturbed his red-hot daydream.

  And now his son was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

  Dragging his mind away from sex, Patrick tried to remember the question.

  But what did you say to a woman with whom you’d been intimate but hadn’t expected to see again?

  Hi, there—what are you doing on my doorstep?

  Patrick stood in silence, the reality of his life squashing the fantasy. He felt the children looking at him and he knew that, no matter what he said next, someone was going to be hurt. If he told her that they didn’t ne
ed a housekeeper then she’d be hurt and so would Alfie. If she stayed—

  He dismissed the thought impatiently.

  How could she possibly stay?

  They always said that the past would catch up with you, but he hadn’t expected it to catch up with him this quickly—hadn’t thought his children would find out about what had happened in Chicago.

  On the other hand, there had to be a reason why she was here. And only one reason came to mind.

  She was pregnant.

  She had to be pregnant. It was the only explanation for the fact that she was standing on his doorstep on Christmas Eve. She’d travelled over six thousand miles to talk to him.

  Patrick closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to stay calm and think clearly.

  He still didn’t understand how her visit to the UK had somehow become entangled with Alfie’s innocent advert for a housekeeper. All he knew was that his private moment of self-indulgence was no longer private. And the fact that she was pregnant…

  Biting back a word he tried never to say in front of his children, Patrick ran his hand over the back of his neck and concentrated on her face. If he looked at his kids he’d just feel guilty and lose his thread, and that wasn’t going to help anyone.

  They were going to be hurt. That was inevitable.

  It was up to him to try and minimise the damage.

  ‘Dad?’ Alfie was throwing strange looks at him. ‘Say something. She can cook, Dad,’ he urged. ‘I know she’s a stranger, but why wouldn’t you want her to stay?’

  Because she wasn’t a stranger.

  But he wasn’t ready to confess as much to Alfie. Not yet. Not until he’d worked out the best way of handling the situation. For now he needed to pretend that this was the first time he’d met her.

  Patrick’s eyes lingered on her long, dark hair. It was damp from the snow and curled softly over her shoulders, the rich colour emphasising the pallor of her skin.

  Her eyes met his briefly and then she turned to Alfie.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Despite her obvious agitation, she gave the child a soft, reassuring smile. ‘I can see there’s been a mix-up.’