Secret Baby for my Brother's Friend

by Ella Brooke

  She felt his arm loop around the back of her waist, drawing her closer and pressing her small form against Patrick's larger one. She thought that he was strong before, but right now, pressed flat against his body, she could tell that he was beyond muscular, powerful like a fighter or athlete.

  The kiss was delicious, but when he slid his tongue along the plumpness of her lower lip, she made a startled sound. Natalie would have said that she never wanted to wake up out of that sensual, sensuous haze, but now she realized how mad this was.

  "I can't," she squeaked, flushing a little at how embarrassed she sounded. "I can't... I just can't..."

  She knew that in situations like this, she was meant to be truly in control. She needed to have her wits around her, and in the past she always did. One terrifying night in London, a drunk man had grabbed her for a kiss, and she made him drop her with nothing more than a stern word. Now, though, Natalie's voice wavered like a plucked violin string, and she wondered a little wildly if Patrick could sense how little she actually wanted him to stop.

  For a moment, Patrick was perfectly still. She wondered if he would stop, if he could stop. Then, reluctantly, he pulled away, looking a little more awake.

  "I'm... I'm sorry about that," he said, his accent sounding thicker than it had before. "Truly I am. I didn't mean to... When you were helping me and all..."

  "No harm, no foul," she said, smiling with just a little bit of uncertainty in her voice. "But maybe you can make it the rest of the way to your bed on your own?"

  A fleeting wistful look slipped across his face, and she could tell in that moment how much he wanted her to accompany him. Then it was gone, replaced by a rueful smile and a nod.

  "That would likely be for the best, yes," he said. "I'll say goodnight, and perhaps by morning you will forgive my sins."

  "No, no sins here," she said with a brief smile. "Like I said, no harm, no foul."

  "Ah, a very perfect and apt saying from the deep traditions of America, I see."

  "You get silly when you're tired," she said, a little alarmed at how very fond she sounded.

  "I do. Good night, pet."

  Before she could turn away from him, he reached for her hand, turning it palm up. The kiss he planted there was soft and light, more gentle than she had thought a kiss would be. When he dropped her hand and turned to walk away, her palm still tingled. She closed her hand over it as if she were hiding away a prize.

  Natalie shook her head.

  This is ridiculous. I have known him for a handful of hours, and if I am being very frank, I am lucky that I have not gotten into some very serious trouble by being this careless.

  She told herself similar things all the way back to the couch, and when she tucked herself in, she thought again of how badly this might have gone if Patrick was a little more cruel, a little more dangerous. However, the kiss he had given her tingled, and before she dropped off to bed, she wondered what it would be like to enjoy more of his kisses. To allow him to take more liberties than he had and how good they might feel.

  Chapter Five

  Patrick was a man who rose with the sun, and his morning routine was usually iron-clad. He made it through the shower before he realized that things were very different this morning indeed, and that there was a good reason for him to plan his next step. At least he didn't have work this morning that had to get done, but that hardly made this any better.

  It was a day off, so there was no reason not to throw on an ancient pair of jeans and a black T shirt, throwing a dark gray sweater over it all. As he dressed, he took his time, wondering what in the world he had done.

  Defending Natalie had never been a question. He saw a woman in trouble, and he was raised to step in, no matter what. However, what had happened after that...

  From the tarot reading to the surprising kiss that they had shared the night before, he was in very foreign waters.

  Natalie was like a wild piece of dandelion fluff, floating wherever the winds took her. In that analogy, he supposed that he was the solid and stolid piece of brick, unmoving and solid. They should have nothing to do with one another, but he couldn't deny the fact that there was something about her that grabbed him, that made it impossible to look away.

  He wondered what in the world would become of her, thrown about by the winds of chance, but he tried to tell himself that it was none of his business. Patrick was a man who ruled himself and his own life easily and effectively, and one of the ways he did that was by being very clear on his responsibilities. Natalie Rook was not his responsibility... was she?

  He had saved her last night, and there was a part of him that wanted to keep her from harm. The idea of something terrible happening to her struck him at the heart, and while he was still pondering those strange emotions, he realized that he could smell ham.

  Patrick felt almost as if he had wandered into some strange house that might be identical to his own, but was certainly not his. Despite having a well-equipped kitchen that was kept stocked for the rare occasion that he had a chef come in, he was usually a man who had his food delivered or who ate out at the finest restaurants that Dublin had to offer. Waking up to frying ham was simply not an experience he was familiar with.

  Bemused, he made his way down the stairs to the bright kitchen, where yes, there was ham being fried in the skillet. The ham was mouthwatering, but it was still less interesting than the cook in question.

  He guessed that he hadn't noticed what she was wearing last night because he was so tired. That meant that he definitely needed to get more rest because a man should be stone dead if he could ignore Natalie dressed in a short little white nightgown. It left her graceful pale arms free, and it hinted at the curves that called like sirens to a man's hands.

  "Oh, good morning!" she chirped brightly, and he had to pull his eyes away, feeling like a lech.

  "Good morning to you," he said. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

  She grinned at him, completely undaunted by his words.

  "You were so nice as to get dinner last night, as well as, you know, saving me and all, that I thought it might be good to make you some breakfast. I got up early and took a peek in your kitchen, and lo and behold, there was plenty of food that wasn't even opened..."

  She paused, considering.

  "Oh, I hope you weren't saving this all for something? I guess I should have thought about that since none of it was opened or anything, I'm sorry..."

  "No," he said, cutting her off with a short motion of his hand. "It wasn't being saved for anything. I'll admit, I forgot that it was there."

  "Hm, well, if I had ham this nice in my kitchen, I don't think I would forget that, but you know. People are different."

  She went back to cooking the ham, apparently satisfied with their exchange. Patrick seated himself at the kitchen island, watching her cook with curiosity. He had dated plenty of women who had stayed the night, but this was the first one who had ever started cooking. Most of the women he had seen would have been horrified at the idea of picking up the heavy cast iron skillet, let alone making something that was as hearty as what Natalie had in store.

  She plated the ham, covering it with a spare dish, and then she fried up four eggs as well, cooking them in a thin and savory layer of fat from the ham.

  "You're watching me," she said, her voice slightly amused.

  "That I am, pet," he said, the endearment slipping out before he could call it back. "You do that well."

  "I like to think I do. I spent a few weeks as a short-order cook once. Didn't last long."

  "Too unadventurous?" he asked with a grin.

  "No," Natalie retorted, bringing the plates to the kitchen island. "The restaurant owner kept squeezing my ass as he went by, so I left for a place that involved a little less groping."

  He scowled, but before he could say anything, she handed him a fork.

  "The world can be awful, but my eggs certainly aren't. Eat up."

  He shrugged and did as he was told
. The food was uncommonly good, and she grinned a little shyly when he said so.

  "I’m glad," she said. "I guess that I wanted to make sure that you felt properly thanked before I took off."

  The comment made something deep inside him squeeze tight, and he looked at her, wondering why she was eating her food so calmly. Did she think she had to escape from him after his display the night before? If that was the case, he should do the gentlemanly thing and let her go, but every instinct inside him shouted against it.

  "Where are you going?" he asked, and she shrugged.

  "Telling fortunes again. There's a co-op that has a bed available for people who are willing to help with the lambing up north. That could be interesting."

  "No." The word came out of his mouth surprisingly sharp, and she looked at him, setting her fork down.

  "No?"

  "That's entirely right. No. You are not going out to tell fortunes or to do whatever godawful chores need to be done on a sheep farm."

  "Well, I don't know what they do on a sheep farm either, but I figure that I can learn."

  "Come work for me."

  Natalie stared at him, and it occurred to him that her eyes were as dark as two pools of ink. Why did they say that people with dark eyes were more mysterious? It was obvious that Natalie was a woman who would let the world see right down to the very core of her whenever she was startled, afraid, happy or sorrowful.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I could use some help around the office," he said, thinking quickly as he spoke. "There's a fair amount of housekeeping going on at the office right now. We're finally reclaiming two of the floors of the place from the mess that it's become over the years, starting fresh and all that. It'll take me the better part of a month, and overall, having someone who can fetch and carry for me specifically will make a difference."

  "What's the pay like?" Natalie asked, and he wondered if she were stalling for time, trying to figure out what his angle was. If he were being honest, he wasn't sure what it was himself, besides preventing Natalie from walking into another situation like the one where he had found her.

  "Generous," he said. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement. If you like, you can even keep the couch, though better accommodations can be discovered, I am sure."

  For a moment, he thought she would turn him down, but then a shy and unexpected smile broke over her face. It was like watching the sun come out after a rainstorm, and he couldn't help smiling in return. God, just looking at her made him feel warmer.

  "All right," she said. "I've had my share of odd jobs before, and this one does sound like it'll be more comfortable than helping with lambs — whatever that involves.

  "I promise you that it is," Patrick said, and the next bite of ham that he took seemed all the more delicious for some reason.

  ***

  Natalie was a woman who always felt as if she landed on her feet no matter what, and she liked to think that she could roll with just about any situation as it arose. However, she was not sure that she could really figure out all of the turns that had occurred since Patrick came swinging into her life, smiting down two evil men and giving her a delicious dinner of shepherd's pie.

  She had to convince him that the couch would be fine, and that he did not have to find her a cheap room. He had seemed oddly distressed at the idea of her sleeping on his couch, and she had simply grinned, waving him off.

  "That's what I've been doing most of the time I've been in Europe, after all," she said, but he scowled and shook his head. He looked so disapproving that she had to laugh.

  "Seriously, do you want to tell me that ‘no daughter of yours would ever be allowed to do such a thing’?"

  The look that Patrick gave her was as dark as night, and for some reason, it sent a shiver up her back.

  “I think that any daughter of mine would have too much sense for that,” he said. “And while she was a teenager, no, such a thing would never be permitted. However, you are not my daughter, and therefore, as a young woman in entire control of her senses, no matter how damaged an idea I might think of it, I suppose that I have to concede. But honestly, is my couch really that comfortable?”

  Natalie lifted her chin at him. She knew that her gaze was as hard as diamonds, and Patrick blinked.

  “Honestly? You are being kind enough to me. Now I have an idea of how the apartment will go. You will get things set up, you may even put it in your name. I'll find the rent remarkably low, and after a while, it will stop seeming so strange... at least until you stop.”

  Patrick frowned at her.

  “Are you telling me that I would just leave you high and dry?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble. “I don't know what I have done to make you think—”

  “Nothing,” Natalie stopped him, because she spoke the truth. “You've done nothing to make me think that you would pull the rug out from underneath me like that, nothing at all. It's just that it has happened before. I've trusted a little too much in the past. If I'm staying on your couch, I won't be stuck with a lease. I won't suddenly find that I have more debt than I started with. Your couch... it's easy.”

  She couldn't tell if he understood that at all, but though Patrick looked unhappy, he nodded.

  “Besides, your couch is more comfortable than most of the places that I have been sleeping lately. Thank you. It really does mean the world to me.”

  Patrick smiled hesitantly at her, and she wondered why he looked so confused. Really, had no one ever given the man a genuine thank you? Had no one offered him thanks for doing things that were so kind? Natalie didn't get the idea that Patrick was an unkind miser, so where was the disconnect?

  “You're very welcome,” he said, and something told her that he meant it.

  Then they came to the matter of clothes. Patrick looked at the small backpack where she kept her worldly possessions and scowled.

  “Do you have anything suitable for an office environment?”

  “Actually, yes!”

  She pulled out a red and purple floral dress, long, swishy and romantic in her view. It would be a touch dowdy, but it should work.

  “And what will you be wearing on other days?”

  “I'll just wash it and hang it up in the evening. When I get my first paycheck, I can get some more, if you like.”

  He sighed, and she wondered all over again what he must think of her. They came from two different planets, and there was a small part of her that was beginning to relish poking at their differences.

  Natalie blinked with surprise when he dug into his wallet and handed her a credit card.

  “Here, take this and get yourself five — no, ten outfits that are suitable for a casual office. We'll mostly be clearing out old files, messy work, but you can't be doing it in rags.”

  She took the credit card thoughtfully. She supposed he was a good enough judge of character to know that she wouldn't make off with his money at least, but at some point, he really was going to have to get to know her. She wasn't going to fall over herself in excitement because he had given her access over his credit card, and she admitted to herself that she did like making him a little uncomfortable. Now was the time to have some fun with that.

  Of course, Patrick was making it even easier by watching her warily, wondering what her next argument was going to be. Truly, the man was making it too easy and far too tempting.

  “All right,” she said, and Patrick looked up, startled and relieved.

  “Really?”

  “I'll take this, and I won't buck about using it to get clothes... on one condition.”

  “And what would that be, pet?” She wondered if he even realized that he was still using the endearment. She guessed not, or at least she hoped not. Part of her admitted that she liked it too much to want him to stop.

  “You have to come with me while I shop.”

  ***

  Patrick thought that he knew what he was getting in to. He thought that he would be in for a day of following Natalie about as she
pranced her way through the department stores, watching her try on outfit after outfit. If he were honest with himself, that sounded like it could be amusing. Besides, if things got too terribly dull, he had no compunctions about telling her he had to work and running off. Natalie was sensible enough to understand that at least.

  However, when he agreed to what he thought would be a mildly entertaining day at the shops with an enthusiastic, if slightly-unhinged woman, he had not expected this.

  In this case, this was a stuffed peacock that stared at him with bright button taxidermy eyes while an elderly parrot watched him with a baleful gaze.

  “Peacock's for sale,” said the old man behind the counter laconically. “Elmer, that's the parrot, he's not.”

  “Believe me when I say that I don't want either of them,” Patrick said, and off to the right, Natalie gave a soft giggle.

  “Oh, but why not?” she asked. “I think that the peacock would make an amazing piece for your townhouse. It would kind of give you a 1930s crazy-world-explorer look.”

  “I am not buying a peacock, no matter what kind of appeal it gives me,” Patrick retorted, and he wondered all over again how he had come to be having this very strange conversation.

  “Suit yourself,” Natalie said with a shrug.

  This was their third thrift store, and Natalie had found enough professional dresses to suit the pair of them. Along the way, Patrick was confronted with monstrous jumpsuits from the 1970s, an army battalion's worth of old cookware, and more oddities than he could shake a stick at. Natalie greeted each one with glee and enjoyment, and somehow, reluctantly, Patrick started to get interested in spite of himself.

  “You know that we could have just gone to one of the department stores,” he said as she dug his credit card out of her pocket.

  “Yes, but look,” she said, pushing her receipts at him with an endearing earnestness. “I might have only gotten one or two dresses for the price that I got ten!”