A Baby for Christmas

by Anne McAllister

  ‘We can get an Arthur-sitter from somewhere. I’ll ask Ruth and see if she knows someone.’

  ‘It’s silly.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. It’s something you want to do.’ ‘And since when has that mattered to you?’

  He winced. ‘It matters,’ he said. ‘Besides, you’re right. It might make you a better editor.’

  ‘I doubt—’

  ‘Come on, Carly. One lousy morning. We can go tomorrow.’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Chicken?’

  ‘I am not chicken!’ Her face flamed.

  He grinned. ‘Prove it. You must have wanted to pretty bad to get certified. Look me in the eye and say you don’t want to do it, Carlota.’ Deep blue eyes fastened on hers, challenging her, daring her to lie.

  Carly sighed and positioned herself to try to catch the next wave. ‘If you can get a sitter,’ she muttered finally, secure in the knowledge that with the holiday coming he wouldn’t be able to.

  He did.

  ‘Ruth’s cousin, Mirabelle,’ he told her that night after Ruth brought them supper. ‘She’ll keep Arthur while we’re gone. We can drop him off first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Drop him off?’

  ‘Why not? He’ll be fine,’ Piran assured her. ‘If he can cope with being dropped off on us, he’ll be able to handle a morning at Mirabelle’s.’

  Carly was sure that he was right, but it still made her nervous. She was feeling more and more as if Arthur was her responsibility and less and less as if she wanted to entrust him to anyone else.

  ‘She is qualified, isn’t she?’ she asked Piran.

  ‘If having six of your own qualifies you,’ he answered with a grin.

  So Carly had to be satisfied with that.

  If she could have, she’d have said she’d changed her mind. It was crazy going diving with Piran. It wouldn’t serve any purpose at all—except to make her more aware than ever of what life would have been like if he’d loved her and married her years ago.

  She didn’t want to know, damn it!

  And yet she did.

  Heaven help her, she wanted to spend the morning diving with Piran. She would have nothing else. She wouldn’t make love with him. She didn’t want those memories. They’d hurt too much.

  But memories of diving, of sharing their experience underwater, of fulfilling one of her dreams—yes, those she could handle. At least, she would try to.

  She was in such a turmoil thinking about that and trying instead to think about the chapter she was supposed to be editing once Arthur went to sleep that she wasn’t really paying much attention to what Piran was up to.

  It was a shock, therefore, to hear a thud on the deck and to look out to see him wrestling a good sized bucket up the steps.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Putting up your Christmas tree.’ He hoisted the bucket again and carried it into the house. He set it in front of the window, fetched the tree and planted it in the bucket which was, she saw, filled a third of the way up with sand. ‘Come here and hold this while I finish shoring it up.’

  Bemused, Carly did as she was told, holding the tree, marveling not simply at Piran’s resourcefulness, but at the fact that he’d actually bothered.

  Now he came back to kneel next to the tree and put rocks around it inside the bucket, wedging it tightly, then filling the rest of the bucket with sand.

  As he worked, Carly watched the ripple of the muscles in his back. He was so close that his dark hair brushed against her bare legs. She stepped away. But she couldn’t go far without letting go of the tree and she didn’t dare do that. Piran finished with the rocks and the sand.

  He straightened and said, ‘Hold out your hand.’

  Carly looked at him warily, but he didn’t say anything, just waited, and she finally did what he said.

  He reached in his pocket and placed two pieces of sea glass—one red, one blue—into her palm. ‘I found them when I was picking up rocks,’ he told her. A corner of his mouth twisted. ‘I—uh—remembered you liked the one we found a long time ago. I…thought you might like these.’

  Carly blinked, then swallowed. ‘Thank you.’ Her fingers closed on them. They looked at each other for a long moment—there were so many messages in that look. So many confusing feelings.

  ‘Now water,’ Piran decreed abruptly, and got to his feet once more to go and fetch some.

  Carly watched him go, her fingers tight around the smooth pieces of glass. She had told herself for years that all her fascination with Piran had been one-sided, that she had built everything up in her head, that no one else would remember all the details she remembered.

  How had Piran remembered about the sea glass?

  He came back with a bucket full of water, then added more sand as the water packed it more densely. ‘There,’ he said at last, nodding his approval. ‘That ought to hold it. What do you think?’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, then looked away, still feeling dazed. Her eyes flickered back to him briefly. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Did you buy lights?’

  ‘What? Oh—er—yes. Of course.’ She managed to get her brain functioning again, went to where she had left the bag on the counter in the kitchen and take out the three strings of colored lights.

  She held them out to Piran. He shook his head. ‘I did my part. You can decorate.’ He paused for a split second after he said it, making her wonder if she could have argued with him. But, before she could make up her mind, abruptly he turned away and went back to the keyboard.

  For a long moment Carly stood with the lights in her hands, looking at the back of Piran’s dark head and the hunch of his broad shoulders. She felt such a crazy mix of emotions that she didn’t think she would ever sort them out.

  He felt only lust for her, she told herself. Lust and passion. He wanted sex. And a good editing job. And someone to care for Arthur.

  But he had remembered the sea glass.

  And he had offered to take her diving in the morning. He had taken the time to find a way to put the tree up tonight.

  God, she had to stop thinking like this! It was useless. Worse than useless.

  But where Piran was concerned she was like a moth with a flame, attracted, mesmerized. Yet she knew full well what would befall her if she gave in to her fascination with him and dared too much, ventured too close.

  She put the lights on the tree alone. She went to bed without saying goodnight. She tossed and turned for hours.

  Piran went to bed shortly after midnight. She heard him get up an hour or so later, prowl around the house, then let himself out to go down to the beach.

  She was still awake at past two when he came back and came to stand just outside her door. She lay unmoving, every nerve alert and aware.

  Wanting. Hoping? Fearing.

  Then she heard his footsteps as he walked into his own room and the sound of the springs as he fell into his bed once more.

  She should be glad, she told herself. She should be rejoicing that he respected her boundaries.

  She did. Of course she did.

  It was perverse, then, that, having got what she wanted, she felt even worse.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MIRABELLE thought Arthur was the most beautiful child she had ever seen. She clucked and fussed over him, bouncing him on her hip and tickling his tummy. She got belly laughs out of him that Carly had never thought were in there. And then she shooed Piran and Carly on their way.

  ‘You don’t be worryin’ about him now. He be fine. Won’t you, mon?’ she asked a still giggling Arthur. He grinned and waved his arms.

  ‘I think he likes her,’ Carly grumbled to Piran as they left and walked down to the dock.

  ‘That’s bad?’ He slanted her a sidelong glance.

  ‘I suppose not,’ she said, but she still felt unaccountably irritated.

  Piran grinned. ‘Just a little jealous, maybe?’

  Carly scowled at him.

  His grin widened.
‘Relax. He’ll be fine, just like she said. Come on.’ He grabbed her hand and hauled her with him down the hill. ‘Stop thinking about Arthur and think about what a good time you’re going to have fulfilling your heart’s desire.’

  How could he have known? Carly wondered an hour later as she swam lazily alongside him, heading down to the wreck of the old ship that she could see in the crystalline depths.

  Maybe he didn’t, she conceded. But he was right.

  Ever since she’d known the St Justs, ever since she had been so briefly and disastrously a part of their lives, she’d dreamed about a day like this one—a day when she would dive with Piran, swim with him, share with him the joy of his profession.

  She turned her head to see him swimming half a length ahead of her. His dark-hair was streaming back except where it was pressed against his head by the rubber strap of the mask he wore. He was pointing at something and she looked where he was indicating to see a school of shimmering, almost iridescent blue fish.

  Everywhere she looked, life abounded. When you were in a boat or even simply wading, you never saw all the things that lived around you just below the surface. Not only the fish, but the corals, the sponges, the huge array of kelps and anemones. At least, that was what she thought they were. When she got back to the city, she would have to take a class, have to learn what all these amazing things were that she was seeing now firsthand.

  Piran beckoned to her, then swam down closer to the wreck. It was encrusted with years and years of coral, and of course all the significant archaeological artifacts had long since been removed. There wasn’t the thrill of discovery that Carly knew must come from the excavation and careful salvage of a newly discovered wreck. But still there was excitement.

  There was the wonder she felt at seeing the boat right where it had gone down, still a part of the natural world, not merely an exhibit in a museum. There was a flicker of astonishment that the boat was so small. When she thought of ships, she thought of the QE II or the Queen Mary. It was probably an optical illusion, but she thought the lifeboats on the QE II were probably as big as this entire ship was.

  And most of all there was Piran.

  She was sure that a dive to show her a wreck like this one must be tedious to a man like him. But if it was he gave no sign. On the contrary, he seemed almost eager. He moved ahead, pointing to things, explaining by hand signals as best he could what they had once been.

  Twice he caught her hand and tugged her close so that he could point out something small that she might have missed otherwise. If she could have, with the breathing apparatus in her mouth, Carly would have been smiling all over her face. As it was, she simply followed him eagerly, taking it all in, relishing every moment. She didn’t want to leave, even when Piran indicated that their tanks were running low on air.

  It wasn’t until they were back in the boat that she actually thought again about Arthur. Even then she only thought of him fleetingly, long enough to hope that he was still enjoying his morning at Mirabelle’s, before her attention was captured once more by the man she had been diving with.

  Piran was taking off his gear while Ben helped her with hers. She stumbled as the boat rocked and it was Piran who caught her before she fell. He righted her, but didn’t let go.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘F-fine,’ Carly assured him. She turned, her eyes sparkling. ‘Wonderful.’ She had to say it, had to let him know how much the dive had meant to her. ‘It was fantastic.’

  He grinned. ‘Yes. It was.’

  ‘You was down there long enough,’ Ben grumbled. ‘Didn’t catch nothing up here.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Piran said lightly as he tugged her down and sat beside her.

  But Carly didn’t think he sounded as if he regretted it. He looked as if he’d enjoyed it as much as she had, though of course that was impossible. Still, it made her feel almost light-headedly happy as Ben piloted them back toward the harbor.

  ‘Tell me all about what we were seeing down there,’ she said to him. ‘You were pointing out some stuff, but I didn’t know what it was.’

  He began to explain. Carly listened intently, absorbing it all. When she didn’t understand, she asked more. Perhaps she was making a fool of herself, betraying her ignorance. But she really wanted to know. She wanted to know everything he did.

  And as she listened she lifted her face into the balmy tropical breeze, letting it caress her damp skin. The December sun warmed her gently. Piran’s hard, hair-roughened thigh pressed against her own with a heat far more intense. She knew she should move away.

  But this was fantasy. Make-believe. The stuff of which dreams and memories were made. As long as she knew it wasn’t real, wasn’t going anywhere, she could enjoy it.

  Couldn’t she?

  Their diving expedition had started as a way to do something for her. It had become more than that almost at once and he’d been doing it for himself as much as for her. She bewitched him.

  Of course, he reminded himself as they walked back to pick up Arthur from Mirabelle’s, she always had.

  Her long legs and lithe figure and saucy smile had intrigued him since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. But other things about her attracted him as well.

  The way she handled Arthur, of course. And the way she’d dug in and helped him make something of the book Des had left him with. And her desire to make this Christmas special. But now, this morning, it was her fascination with diving that bewitched him.

  He’d taken plenty of starry-eyed women diving. He’d known what to expect. To a woman, they’d shown cursory interest in the wreck and a whole lot more interest in the tangling of limbs with him underwater.

  Not Carly. Carly had been all business. She’d followed him intently, but unless he’d touched her to point something out she’d kept her distance.

  Still, her interest in what he’d shown her had been genuine. After they’d come up, she’d plied him with questions that she’d really seemed to want to know the answers to. Piran never liked talking about diving or archaeology when he felt he could be boring his listeners. He didn’t feel he bored Carly.

  ‘There’s a train underwater near here,’ he told her as they turned the corner on to Mirabelle’s street. ‘You should see it. You’d like it.’

  ‘I’d like anything,’ Carly agreed, her eyes shining.

  I’ll take you, Piran almost said. We’ll make a day of it. You and me.

  But he didn’t say it. Because they didn’t have time. There was no way they could go to see the train. Carly had been right when she’d said they really hadn’t had time for this dive. But he wanted to.

  He wanted to share it with her, to show her, to see her eyes light up the way they’d lit up today.

  So they’d lost a morning on the book. He was glad. It had been good for both of them.

  And after the book was done? he asked himself.

  After the book was done, well, she’d go back to New York, and he’d take off for Greece to his next project.

  Chances were he’d never see Carly O’Reilly again.

  The thought gave him a curiously hollow feeling.

  They were almost at Mirabelle’s gate when Piran knew he had to say the one thing he’d never thought he would say.

  ‘Remember…your birthday nine years ago?’

  Carly’s head jerked round and she stared at him, the expression in her eyes like that of a doe caught in a hunter’s sight. He saw her swallow.

  ‘What about it?’

  Now that he’d brought it up, he wasn’t sure where to start. He ducked his head briefly, then lifted it again to meet her gaze. ‘I was a jerk. What I said…what I thought.’ He paused, then continued grimly, ‘I was a jerk when you got here, thinking the same thing.’

  Carly didn’t say anything. Her eyes were as round as old Spanish doubloons.

  ‘I don’t know what excuse I can give you,’ he said gruffly, aware of the hot blood in his cheeks. ‘That I was young and stupid and full of myself? That I did
n’t trust women? Any women? Even young naive ones? Hell, I don’t know. Take your pick.’

  He saw Carly wince when he said the bit about young naive ones.

  She licked her lips before she spoke. ‘Yes, well, I’m sure that my mother marrying your father must have been a terrible shock,’ she began slowly.

  He nodded. ‘It’s just that she was just so bloody different from him—from us! I know my folks didn’t get along, I know my mother left my father for another man. But I never figured my dad would go for…for…’

  ‘Someone like my mother?’ Carly suggested drily, with only the faintest hint of hurt in her voice.

  Piran shifted uncomfortably. ‘Someone so different,’ he said. ‘My mother was so quiet and remote and…and elegant, despite what she did.’ He grimaced. ‘I guess I thought that was what my father liked. But then he met yours and she was…she was…’

  ‘Flamboyant?’ Carly suggested wryly. ‘Jolly?

  Devil-may-care?’

  ‘I wasn’t used to it. It made me suspicious. I…think she made my dad happy, though,’ he admitted after a moment, rubbing a hand through his salt-stiffened hair. ‘She must have.’ He stared off into the distance, remembering, then he swallowed against the suddenly tight feeling in his throat. ‘He chose her.’

  ‘Over you, you mean?’ Carly said.

  Piran pressed his lips together. It sounded so rotten put that way, but she was right. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed him to forget her,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have walked out when he wouldn’t.’

  ‘You did what you thought was right,’ Carly said. ‘But you should have come back…at the end.’

  He bowed his head. ‘I know.’ He lifted his gaze and met hers. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t.’

  ‘He knew you loved him,’ Carly said. ‘And he loved you. He told me so.’

  Piran ran his tongue across dry lips. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘My mother loved him, you know,’ Carly said, and he heard a catch in her throat. ‘She really did.’

  Yes, she probably had, Piran realized now. He looked at the ground between his feet. He didn’t know what he expected. Absolution, maybe? A blessing from the young woman he’d disbelieved all those years ago, from the woman he’d been rude to just days before?