Читать книгу Her Motherhood Wish - Anne Fraser, Anne Fraser - Страница 10

CHAPTER FOUR

DAVID crept into his friend’s flat, grateful to hear nothing but blessed silence. For once the baby seemed to be asleep. Kate had left a terse note about a woman having phoned several times and didn’t he know she wasn’t his secretary? David groaned. Melissa. She wasn’t aware of it yet, but their short dalliance had come to an end. Once a woman started making unreasonable demands, it made him run in the opposite direction as fast as he could.

He opened the fridge and helped himself to an ice-cold beer.

Somehow he couldn’t see Olivia hanging onto a man as if her life depended on it. There was something too proud, too self-assured about her, despite—or maybe because of—what she’d been through. She was resilient, no doubt about it.

He sighed as he undressed. In other circumstances she was exactly the type of woman he would have made it his business to pursue. Intelligent, beautiful and, most importantly, independent.

But, of course, any chance of an affair with Olivia was out of the question. The fact that she was a widow would have been off-putting enough—but a pregnant widow? No way. No matter how beautiful, she was untouchable. Which was a pity.

He climbed into bed and pulled the duvet over him. Sleep. He had to be up again in less than six hours, so he had to make the most of every minute.

But just as he was drifting off, a sound like a host of banshees let loose had him sitting bolt upright. Ye gods, what was it? But then as the shrieks settled down into the more recognisable cries of a disgruntled baby, he almost wished the house had been invaded by banshees. At least then he could have sent them on their way. He thumped his pillow in disgust and pulled it over his ears. He was so tired, surely not even that racket could keep him awake?

Only it wasn’t just baby Alice who invaded his thoughts and prevented sleep but the memory of a beautiful blonde-haired woman with an impish smile and determined eyes.

Olivia was dreaming, lovely dreams where she was lying on a beach with a book in her hand and nothing to do for the rest of the day, when a loud banging on the door woke her up. She glanced at her watch. Six am! Who the hell could it be? Calls at this time usually meant bad news. As she hurried to the door, Bouncer following at her heels, she mentally ran through all the possibilities in her head. Dad was in Boston, surely still asleep at this time, and her best friend was in the UK. Her heart hammering, she opened the door only to find an exhausted-looking David, leaning against the doorjamb, his eyes half-closed. He held out a paper cup to her.

‘Good. You’re up,’ he said, thrusting the cup into her hand before bending down and giving an ecstatic Bouncer a scratch behind the ears. ‘I guessed you would be.’

Olivia stared at him, speechless as he walked past her without so much as a by your leave. He sank into her leather sofa, removed his shoes, and propped his feet up on the table.

‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ she spluttered.

‘I know exactly what time it is. Just after six. I’ve been counting virtually every blessed minute since four this morning. Baby Alice—cute as a button but as loud as a banshee—hardly slept a wink, so neither did I. Teething—or so her mother says.’

‘I know I said I would give you a lift to work, but I meant at a decent hour. In fact, I distinctly remember us agreeing on seven-thirty!’

Instead of looking embarrassed and penitent, he lay back on the sofa, placed his hands behind his head and eased his legs out in front of him. At least Bouncer had the grace to look guilty as he climbed onto the couch next to David and curled up against him. ‘Don’t mind me,’ David said.’ I’m happy to wait until you’re ready to go.’ He raised an eyebrow and grinned. ‘Nice look, by the way.’

She looked down, mortified to find that her breasts were as clear as day under her thin vest that she wore with her pyjama shorts. She’d been so disorientated and anxious to answer the door she hadn’t stopped to cover herself.

She was about to grab him by the arm and physically eject him when she noticed his breathing had already deepened. She went to stand over him. Sure enough, he was fast asleep. And so was her dog.

Why, oh, why had she stopped to give him a lift? For some reason he had taken that as carte blanche to invite himself into her life. Was he so used to women keeling over in admiration that it hadn’t crossed his mind that his behaviour was completely out of order?

Or maybe the man was mad? Perhaps he’d been removed from his job in New York for irrational behaviour? Perhaps the reputation of California for being more accepting of idiosyncratic personalities had brought him here?

And it was all very well for him to imply that she could go back to bed until later, but once she was up, she was up!

Still seething, she took a sip of whatever he’d brought in the carton. Raspberry tea. It was delicious—but if he thought he was going to get around her with a cup of herbal tea he had another think coming.

She stalked into the study and booted up her computer. A few moments later she typed in David’s name.

Immediately several entries came up, mostly articles in JAMA with his name attached. So he was definitely a well-regarded neurosurgeon. No evidence of him being struck off for flaky behaviour, then.

But then, a few lines below, another item appeared. One that made her suck in her breath. It was a photograph of David, standing with his arm around a beautiful brunette in front of a nightclub. But it wasn’t so much the photograph that surprised her, it was the caption. ‘Dr David Stuart, heir to the Stuart fortune, with partner, snapped outside the 40/40 club.’