Читать книгу Come Fly With Me... - Фиона Бранд - Страница 14
ОглавлениеCARRIE STRETCHED ON the sofa and groaned. The early morning sun was trying to creep through the blinds. It was brighter than normal, which probably meant it was reflecting off the newly laid white snow. All thoughts of everything returning to normal today vanished in the drop of a snowflake.
There was no getting away from it—Baby Abraham was hard work.
She hadn’t had time last night to feel sorry for herself and neither had Dan—because Abraham had screamed for three hours solid. She certainly hadn’t had time for any romantic dreams. It seemed neither of them had the knack for feeding and burping a new baby.
‘Carrie?’ Dan came stumbling through the doorway, bleary-eyed, his hair all rumpled and his low-slung jeans skimming his hips.
She screwed up her eyes. Bare-chested. He was bare-chested again. Did the guy always walk about like this? Her brain couldn’t cope with a cute naked guy this early in the morning, especially when she was sleep-deprived.
She pointed her finger at him. ‘If you wake him, I swear, Dan Cooper, I’ll come over there and—’
‘Cook me pancakes?’
She sighed and sagged back down onto the sofa, landing on another uncomfortable lump. ‘You have the worst sofa known to man.’ She twisted on her side and thumped at the lump. ‘Oh, it’s deceptive. It looks comfortable. When you sit down, you sink into it and think, Wow! But sleeping on it?’ She blew her hair off her forehead. ‘Not a chance!’
‘Wanna take the bed tomorrow night?’
With or without you?
She pushed the wayward thought out of her head. How did parents ever go on to have more than one child? Hanky-panky must be the last thing on their minds.
She stood up and stretched. Abraham had finally quietened down around an hour ago. He was now looking all angelic, breathing steadily as if sleeping came easily to him.
‘The offer of pancakes sounds good. Do you think you can cook them without waking His Lordship? Because at this rate, ancient or not, Mrs Van Dyke’s going to have to take her turn babysitting.’
Dan nodded. ‘Right there with you, Carrie. For some reason I thought this would be a breeze. You’ve no idea how many times I nearly picked up the phone to call Shana last night and beg her to come and pick him up.’
Carrie leaned against the door, giving him her sternest stare. ‘Well, maybe you need to think about that a little more.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve been pretty down on Abraham’s mum. We’re presuming he was just born. But what if he’s actually a few days old? Maybe she was struggling to cope. Maybe she’s young—or old—and didn’t have any help. Maybe she’s sick.’
The dark cloud quickly descended over Dan’s face again. ‘Stop it, Carrie. Stop trying to make excuses for her. And if Abraham’s not newly born, then where were his diapers? Where were his clothes? And no matter how hard she was finding it to cope—is that really a good enough reason to dump a baby on a freezing doorstep?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m just throwing it out there, Dan. I’m not trying to make excuses for anyone. What I am going to do is take a shower and change my clothes.’ She headed over to the door. ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes and I expect my breakfast to be waiting.’ She gave him a wink.
He lifted his eyebrows. ‘Hmm, getting all feisty now, are we? I think I preferred you when you were all please help me with this baby.’
She picked up the nearest cushion and tossed it at his head. ‘No, you didn’t,’ she said as she headed out the door.
‘No. I didn’t,’ he breathed as he watched her head upstairs.
* * *
Carrie took a few moments to pull open her blinds and look outside.
A complete white-out with no signs of life. Not a single footprint on the sidewalk. Every car was covered in snow, with not a single chance of moving anywhere soon. It seemed that New York City would remain at a standstill for another day.
For a moment she wished she were in the middle of Central Park. Maybe standing at Belvedere Castle and looking out over the Great Lawn, or standing on Bow Bridge watching the frozen lake. It would be gorgeous there right now.
She didn’t care that it was closed because of the snowfall. She didn’t care about the potential for falling trees. All she could think about was how peaceful it would be right now—and how beautiful.
But with daydreams like this, was she just looking for another opportunity to hide away?
She tried to push the thoughts from her head. There was too much going on in there. What with virtually bare baby and bare-chested Dan, her head was spinning.
She switched on the shower and walked through to her bedroom, stripping off her clothes and pulling her dressing gown on while she waited for the water to heat.
The contents of her wardrobe seemed to mock her. A sparkly sequin T-shirt. Trying too hard. A red cardigan. Impersonating Mrs Van Dyke. A plain jumper. Frumpy.
She pulled out another set of jeans and a bright blue cap-sleeved sweater. It would have to do.
Her eyes caught sight of the silver box beneath her bed and her heart flipped over.
It was calling her. It was willing her to open it.
She couldn’t help it. It was automatic. She knelt down and touched it, pulling it out from under the bed and sitting it on top of the bed in front of her.
Her precious memories, all stored in a little box. But how could she look at them now after she’d just been holding another baby?
It almost seemed like a betrayal.
She ran the palm of her hand over the lid of the box. Just doing it made her heartbeat quicken. She could feel the threat of tears at the backs of her eyes.
She couldn’t think about this now. She just couldn’t.
Steam was starting to emerge from the bathroom. The shower was beckoning. She couldn’t open the box. Not now. Not while she was in the middle of all this.
For the contents of that box she needed space. She needed time.
She needed the ability to cry where no one could hear. No one could interrupt.
She sucked air into her lungs. Not now. She had to be strong. She had to be focused. Her hand moved again—one last final touch of the silver box of memories—before she tore herself away and headed inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
* * *
There was a whimper in the corner. Dan’s pancakes were sizzling; was the noise going to wake the baby? He sure hoped not. He didn’t know if he could take another cryfest.
The television newscaster looked tired. He’d probably been stuck inside the New York studio all night. The yellow information strip ran along the bottom of the news constantly. Telling them how much snow had fallen, how the city was stranded, all businesses were closed, food supplies couldn’t get in. Nothing about how to look after a newborn baby.
It was time to do an internet search again. They must have done something wrong last night. There was no way a baby would cry like that for nothing. At least he hoped not.
He tossed the pancakes and his stomach growled loudly. He was starving and they smelled great.
A jar of raspberry jam landed on the counter next to him. She was back. And she smelled like wild flowers—even better than pancakes.
‘What’s that for?’
‘The pancakes.’
‘Jelly?’ He shook his head. ‘Pancakes need bacon and maple syrup. That’s what a real pancake wants.’
She opened his fridge. ‘Pancakes need butter and raspberry jam. It’s the only way to eat them.’
He wrinkled his nose, watching as she flicked on the kettle.
‘And tea. Pancakes need tea.’
He grimaced. ‘You might be out of luck, then. I’ve only got extra-strong coffee.’
She waved a bag at him. ‘Just as well I brought my own, then.’
Dan served the pancakes onto two plates and carried them over to the table, pulling some syrup from his empty cupboards and lifting the brewing coffee pot. ‘I can’t tempt you, then?’
Something flickered in her eyes. Something else. Something different. She gave him a hesitant smile. ‘I’m an English girl. It’s tea and butter and jam all the way.’
They both knew that the flirtation was continuing.
And right now he wanted to tempt her. The cop in him wanted to forget about the mountain of paperwork he’d need to complete about this baby. The cop in him wanted to forget about the investigation that would have to be carried out.
The guy in him wanted to concentrate on the woman in the lovely blue sweater sitting at his table with her jar of raspberry jam. He wanted to reach over to touch the curls that were coiling around her face, springing free from the clip that was trying to hold them back. He wanted to see if he could say something to make her cheeks flush even pinker than they currently were. He wanted a chance to stare into those cornflower-blue eyes and ask her what she was hiding from him. What she was guarding herself from.
He lifted the maple syrup and squirted it onto his pancakes. She was concentrating on spreading butter on her pancakes smoothly and evenly with one hand while stirring her tea with the other hand.
He’d opened the blinds partly to let a little natural light into the apartment. And seeing Carrie McKenzie in the cold light of day was more than just a little shock to his system.
The girl was beautiful. From the little sprinkle of freckles over her nose to the way she wrinkled her brow when she was concentrating.
He’d felt a pull towards her last night, when he’d seen her in the dim lights of his apartment. But now he had a chance to look at her—to really look at her—and all he could think about was why on earth he hadn’t noticed her before.
How on earth could he have stayed in an apartment building with someone so incredibly pretty and not have noticed? He could just imagine the cops at the station if they ever got wind of that.
Carrie put a teaspoon into the jam jar and spread some jam onto her pancakes. ‘Are you going to watch me eat them, too?’ she asked, a smile spreading across her face.
He jerked backwards in his seat. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking.’
‘About Abraham?’
Wow. No, Abraham was the last thing he’d been thinking about, and as if in indignation there was a squawk from the crib. Dan set down his cutlery, gave a sigh and waved his hand at her as she went to stand up. ‘Stay where you are—you’re still eating. I’m finished. Maybe he’s hungry again. I sterilised the bottles so we should be fine.’
It was amazing how quickly you could learn to make a baby bottle. A few minutes later he lifted Abraham from the crib and settled him onto his shoulder for a bit.
‘Carrie? Does he look okay to you? What do you think about his colour?’
She set down her mug of tea and walked over. ‘It’s kind of hard to tell.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘We don’t really know anything about the ethnicity of his parents, so I’m not entirely sure what normal will look like for him.’
She walked over to the window and pulled the blinds up completely. ‘Bring him over here so I can get a better look at him.’
Dan carried him over and they stood for a few seconds looking at him in the daylight. ‘He looks a tiny bit yellow, don’t you think?’
She nodded. ‘Jaundice. Isn’t it supposed to be quite common in newborns?’
He gave her that smile again. The why-are-you-asking-me-something-I-couldn’t-possibly-know smile.
They both glanced at the computer. Carrie took a few seconds to punch in the words and then—nothing.
She turned towards him. ‘Looks like your internet has just died.’
‘Really? It’s usually really reliable. Must be the weather.’
She stared out the window. ‘It must be something to do with the snow. I hope the power supply doesn’t get hokey. That sometimes happens in storms back home.’
He looked at her with an amused expression on his face. ‘Hokey?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘What? It’s a word.’
‘Really? Where?’
She gave him a sarcastic smile. ‘I’d look it up for you online but your internet is down.’
‘Ha-ha. Seriously—what are we going to do about Abraham? Do you think it’s dangerous? I mean, he’s drinking okay and—’ he wrinkled his nose ‘—he certainly knows how to poo.’
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Really? Again? Then maybe you should phone a friend. It’s a bit like the blind leading the blind here. I guess you’ll need to phone Shana. There really isn’t anyone else we can ask.’
He gave her a smile as he walked over to put Abraham on the dark towel to change him. He could only imagine the chaos going on at Angel’s Children’s Hospital right now. Last thing he wanted to do was add to Shana’s headache. But he wanted to make sure that Abraham was safe in his care. Screamer or not, he wanted to do the best he could for this baby.
‘Do you think this is how all new parents feel? As if they don’t know anything at all?’
Carrie turned her back and walked over to the countertop, picking up her mug of tea. Trying to find the words that would counteract the tight feeling in her chest. She was trying so hard. So hard not to let these things creep up on her. Then—out of the blue—some random comment would just cut her in two.
She set her mouth in a straight line. ‘Most new parents would have a whole host of textbooks or family to ask—we don’t.’
He pulled his mobile from his pocket. ‘I guess I’ll phone Shana, then.’ He dialled the number and waited for Shana to be paged, pressing the button to put her on speakerphone as he wrestled with Abraham’s nappy.
‘What?’
Not good. She sounded snarky. ‘Shana, it’s Dan.’
‘Is the baby okay?’ Straight to the point as usual. Did she ever stop—just for a second?
He took a deep breath. ‘We’re not sure. Abraham looks kinda yellow. Carrie thinks he might be jaundiced.’
‘Who is Abraham?’
‘The baby. Who did you think I was asking about?’
‘Oh, so you’ve given him a name. Abraham—I like it.’
‘I’m glad I’ve got your approval. What about his colour?’
‘More common in breastfed babies—but not unusual. It could be jaundice.’ It was clear she was thinking out loud. ‘Could be serious if it’s appeared within twenty-four hours of birth—but then we don’t know that, do we?’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘Ideally, I’d like to check him over and draw some blood.’
‘Well, that’s not gonna happen any time soon. What should we do in the meantime?’
‘Monitor him—I mean, watch him. Make sure he feeds regularly and he’s not too sleepy. Don’t be afraid to wake him up to feed him. Let him get some natural light onto his skin. Put his crib next to the window and keep a close eye on his colour. If you think it’s getting worse—or he has any other symptoms—phone me, straight away. Check the whites of his eyes. If they start to turn yellow you need to call me.’
Dan couldn’t help it. He lifted a sleepy eyelid immediately, much to the disgust of Abraham, who squealed loudly at being disturbed.
Shana let out a laugh at the other end of the phone. ‘If he’s that annoyed, he’s doing okay. But let me know if you’re concerned.’ She ended the call abruptly—probably a thousand other things to do.
Dan stared at the receiver in his hand. ‘She never even told me if she contacted social services,’ he murmured.
‘Probably too busy.’ He jumped at the quiet voice in his ear. He should have realised she’d stepped closer to him. The wave of wild flowers seemed like her trademark scent.
He held his breath. Did she realise she was standing so close? Was there something, somewhere that kept pulling them closer together? Because it sure felt like it.
Her gaze dropped to the floor and he was sorry, because he liked when she was so close he could see the other little flecks of colour in her cornflower-blue eyes. Tiny little fragments of green that you could only see up close. She tugged at the bottom of her sweater, obviously feeling a little self-conscious.
‘I heard a little of that,’ she said. ‘Shall I move his crib over to the window?’
He nodded and she moved swiftly, pulling all the blinds up completely and drowning the room in the reflected brilliant white light from outside. He flinched, his hand on Abraham’s back. ‘Wow. Well, if that can’t beat a bit of jaundice I don’t know what will.’
She turned around and shot him a killer smile.
His reactions were automatic. Abraham was put down in the brightly lit crib and Dan found himself standing right at her side.
He was obviously going stir-crazy. Being trapped in his apartment with a beautiful lady was playing havoc with his senses. He was going to have to try and find some other way to distract himself.
All his usual self-control was flying out the window around Carrie McKenzie and he had no idea why.
She was hiding something from him. And who could blame her? They hardly knew each other. He couldn’t expect her to tell him her every dark secret.
But Dan’s instincts were good. Probably due to his experiences as a child. Experiences that had affected his ability to form real, trusting relationships with women.
So why was it that the first time he ever really wanted to get to know someone, he picked the one woman who was clearly hiding something? Was he crazy?
He had to do something—anything—to distract himself from all this. ‘Any plans today, Carrie?’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Apart from strapping on my jet pack to fly across New York, get to work, put in a ten-hour day, find some groceries and clothes for a stranded baby, no, nothing at all.’ She was shaking her head, staring out at the five-foot-deep snow. She was obviously as stir-crazy as he was.
He waved his pink cast at her. ‘Well, I’m going to go swimming. Then I’m going to strap on my skis—can’t waste good snow like this—and finally I’m going to ship Shana over here to check out Abraham and make sure he’s okay.’ He gave her a little smile. ‘And if she could bring some beers, sodas and a fresh pizza, that would be great.’
Carrie leaned against the window and sighed. ‘What are we going to do all day?’
‘If we can’t play our imaginary games?’
Carrie counted off on her fingers. ‘We could have a soapathon. You know, watch all the soaps that you haven’t for years. Watch them all day.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘I don’t really know the names of any of the soaps in America. Are they any good?’
He shook his head. ‘Next idea.’
She looked around. ‘We could reorganise. Everyone needs a spring clean. It could be the perfect time.’
‘Get your hands off my stuff, McKenzie,’ he growled at her. ‘Anyway, haven’t you already realised there’s nothing in my cupboards to reorganise?’
She laughed. ‘Okay. I didn’t think you’d go for that one.
‘Do you have games? Board games? I could challenge you.’ She could obviously see him racking his brain. ‘Chess?’ She was getting desperate.
‘I might have some board games. But they will be years old. Some are probably originals.’
He walked over to a cupboard and went down on his hands and knees, crawling right inside. She heard some groans as some sports-kit bags, rackets and balls shot past her ankles. ‘Need some help in there?’
There was a little cloud of dust followed by a coughing fit and Dan crawled out with a pile of games in his hands. He held them out towards her. ‘How about these?’
She carried them over to the table. ‘Wow. You were right—some of these are originals.’ And even better than being originals, they all showed visible signs of wear and tear. It was obvious that these games had been used and loved at some point in their history. ‘I think these would be perfect.’
He appeared at her side, a big smudge across his cheek. ‘What does the winner get?’
She couldn’t help it. Her fingers reached up to wipe the smudge from his cheek. He froze, then caught her hand in his before she could pull it away. ‘What does the winner of this games tournament get?’
His words were quiet this time, the jokey aspect removed, and she could sense the feeling hanging in the air between them.
A whole variety of answers sprang to mind; some of them would make her hair curl and save her hours at the hairdressers.
Then a safe option shot into her mind. ‘Can you bake?’
‘What?’ He looked stunned. He’d obviously had something else in mind.
‘I said can you bake?’
‘I suppose so. My grandmother baked all the time. But it’s been years since I’ve tried anything like that. Anyhow, you’ve seen my cupboards. Old Mother Hubbard had nothing on me. I don’t have any ingredients.’
‘But I do. There—it’s settled. The loser has to make the winner a cake. Just what we need on a day like this.’
‘You’d trust me to make you a cake?’
‘I love cake. I’d trust anyone to make me a cake.’ She held out her hand. ‘Do we have a deal?’
He hesitated for just a second, before his competitive edge took over. ‘I’m a chocolate cake kind of guy. You better get your apron out.’
* * *
The waft of baking filled the whole apartment. It had been years since the place had smelled like this. It only made him miss his grandmother more.
Apple pie. That had been the thing she’d baked most frequently. And it was the smell he most associated with his grandmother. Freshly baked juicy apples bubbling under the surface of the golden pie, topped with a sprinkling of sugar. Bliss.
Now the smell was a little different. The timer on the oven buzzed. He hadn’t even known that his oven had a timer, let alone how to use it. But Carrie had insisted it was essential to bake the perfect cake.
Or cakes as it had turned out.
The game marathon had resulted in a dead heat.
And now his kitchen was filled with the smells of chocolate cake and carrot cake. He pulled the door open as a waft of heat flooded out from the oven. The chocolate cake that Carrie had baked for him looked spectacular. His carrot cake? Not so much. A little charred on top. But nothing that the mound of frosting she’d made him prepare couldn’t hide.
He lifted both out and watched as she tipped them onto a wire rack to cool—yet another thing she’d brought down from her apartment upstairs. Along with the mixing bowls, spatulas, ingredients and cake tins. She probably had more of her possessions currently in his apartment than her own.
Baking was definitely her thing. She seemed relaxed, she seemed happy and she liked it. Even Abraham seemed to be more chilled out. Two feeds, lots of wind and no crying fits. Finally things were starting to settle.
‘We need to let the cakes cool before we ice them. So let’s give them a minute.’ She pulled out some plates from the cupboard, then shook her head and went back to look for more.
‘What’s wrong with my plates’?
‘Nothing.’ Her voice was muffled as she crouched in one of his kitchen cupboards. ‘But cake-eating is an art form. You have to have better plates than those. Aha.’ She pulled herself back out of the cupboard with something in her hand. ‘These are much better.’
She stood up and put the fine bone china plates on the countertop. White with tiny red flowers painted on them. Another remnant of his grandmother. She’d used them for eating cake, too—probably why they were now hidden in the depths of his cupboards.
The lights flickered around them.
‘Uh-oh,’ murmured Carrie. ‘That’s the third time that’s happened now.’
Dan walked over next to her. ‘This could be a problem.’
She turned to face him. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t have any candles.’
She looked at him in mock horror and held up her hands. ‘You don’t? What kind of emergency guy are you? Aren’t you cops supposed to be prepared for anything?’
He didn’t move, just kept his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Not everything.’ His voice was quiet, barely a whisper. There was no mistaking the alternative meaning.
She looked up at him. He was only inches from her face, inches from her lips. The lights flickered again, so he moved a little closer, his hand resting on her hip.
She didn’t move. Not an inch. Her tongue came out slowly and ran along her lips, as if, without even realising it, she was preparing them for kissing.
She could feel the pull. She could feel the same draw that he felt. He wasn’t wrong about this—he could tell.
It had been there all day and they had been dancing around the edges of it. But now it wasn’t hiding any more. It was right there in front of them.
His fingers pressed into her hip, pulling her pelvis a little closer to his, giving her every opportunity to object—to resist.
But she didn’t.
He leaned forward. ‘Carrie McKenzie, I’m going to kiss you now.’ His voice was low, trying to entice her to edge forward to hear it.
But she didn’t do that.
She did something totally unexpected. She lifted her hands and wrapped them around his neck. ‘It’s about time,’ she whispered as she rose up on her toes to meet his lips.
Honey. She tasted of honey. Was there honey in the chocolate cake she’d just baked? At least that was what it felt like. The kiss started out shy—tentative. He didn’t want her to feel forced. He didn’t want her to feel as if she couldn’t say no. He just prayed she wouldn’t.
Her fingers wound up across his shorn hairline as the kiss deepened. As her tongue teased with his. Then she let out a little sigh that almost undid him completely.
He should pull back. He should let her out of his arms to give her time to think about this. There was still so much about Carrie McKenzie he didn’t know.
But right now he didn’t want to. Letting her go was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Not when she seemed to be matching him move for move.
And in an instant everything was black.
* * *
They jumped apart, then instantly moved back together again, bashing noses.
‘Oops.’ Carrie started to giggle as she rubbed her nose. ‘I guess that will be the power cut, then.’
‘I guess it is. Do you have any candles?’
‘Yeah, I have some upstairs in my apartment. Not the emergency kind. More the bathroom kind.’
‘What’s a bathroom kind of candle?’
‘The scented kind. The kind you light around your bath.’
He shook his head. ‘I guess I’ll take your word for it. We’ll need something.’
‘I’ll go up and get them.’
He slipped his hand into hers. ‘Let me come with you.’
‘What about the baby?’ She glanced over in the direction of the silent crib.
‘Leave the door open. We’ll only be a few minutes. He’s sleeping. Nothing’s going to happen.’
He liked holding her hand. It felt right inside his. It fitted.
They stumbled towards the door, leaving it wide open, and stepped out into the hallway. There was no light in the hall at all. No street lights shining in. No gentle glow underneath the opposite door. It was weird. He couldn’t remember the last time there had been a power cut—probably why he didn’t have any candles. He reached out for the banister and started up the stairs, giving her a gentle tug behind him.
They reached her door and she glanced in the direction of Mrs Van Dyke’s apartment. ‘Do you think we should check on her?’
‘Maybe. Do you have any extra candles she could have?’
She let out a little laugh. ‘Oh, I have a whole year’s supply in here.’ She pushed open the door to her apartment and walked over to the bathroom, bending down and pulling things from one of the cupboards.
Dan looked around as best he could. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The only available light was the moonlight outside, streaming in through one of the windows.
Neat. Tidy. Everything in its place.
There was nothing strange about that. Lots of women he knew were tidy. But there was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He moved across the room, putting his hand on the back of the leather sofa.
This wasn’t Carrie’s place, so she wouldn’t have chosen any of the furnishings. But she’d been here for a few months now.
The darkness wasn’t helping. Nor was the sight of Carrie’s behind in her jeans as she bent over the cupboards and pulled out an array of candles.
She walked back over, fumbled through a drawer for a box of matches and lit the candle she was holding in a glass jar. The warm light spread up around her face, illuminating her like some TV movie star.
Candlelight suited her. Her pale skin glowed, her brown curly hair shiny and her eyes bright. She smiled as she held it out towards him and the aroma from the melting wax started to emerge.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘What is that? Washing powder?’
She waved her hand in the air to waft the smell a little further. ‘Close. Cotton fresh. I’ve also got lavender, orange, cinnamon, raspberry, spring dew and rain shower.’
‘Sheesh. Who names these candles?’
She lit another one and moved over next to him again. ‘I think it would be a great job. Right up there with naming paint shades.’
‘You’d have a field day doing that.’
‘You can bet on it. Imagine the fun. Shades of yellow—sunshine rays or daffodil petals. Shades of purple—sugared violet, lavender dreams or amethyst infusion.’ Even in this dim light he could see the twinkle in her eyes and the enthusiasm in her voice were completely natural.
‘Wow. You weren’t joking, were you?’ He took a little step closer.
She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know how the careers advisor missed it from my career matches.’
He could see her automatic reaction. She was drawn towards him.
A thought jumped into his head, tearing him away from the impure thoughts starting to filter through his brain. He groaned. ‘What about the power? How can we sterilise the bottles and make the milk for Abraham?’
She touched his arm and an electric current shot straight up towards his shoulder, sending his brain straight back to his original thoughts. There was hesitation. She’d noticed it, too. ‘We should be fine,’ she said quietly, lifting her eyes slowly to meet his. ‘I had just boiled the kettle and resterilised the bottles. We can make up one when we go back downstairs.’ She was staring at him. Even in the dark light he could see the way her pupils had widened, taking over most of her eyes. Natural in the dark, but it didn’t feel like that kind of response. It felt like another entirely.
He set his candle down on a nearby side table, letting the glow shine upwards, emphasising the curve of her breasts and hips. He couldn’t pretend any more. He couldn’t hide his reactions. He didn’t want to.
He put his hand on her hip, pulling her closer, leaving her with a candle jar clutched to her chest. ‘So, not only am I marooned here—’ he waved his other hand around ‘—in a snowstorm, with the power out, with a lady who found a baby on the doorstep and knows all the words to every musical known to man—’ his hand came back to rest on her other hip, pulling her even closer with only the burning candle between them ‘—I find out she’s also slightly crazy. With career ambitions even the career-matching machine couldn’t have predicted.’
There was hesitancy there. A little apprehension—even though they had been lip-locked a few minutes ago. But Carrie was gradually relaxing. He could feel the tension leaving her arms and her body easing into his. She moved the flickering candle from between them, pressing her warm breasts against his chest. If she moved any more, things could start to get out of hand.
But she was smiling. A happy, relaxed smile. A warm smile. The kind he’d only glimpsed on a few rare occasions over the past two days. The kind that showed she’d let her guard down. The metal portcullis that was kept firmly in place was starting to ease up—ever so gently.
It revealed the real Carrie McKenzie. The kind of person she could be—if she was brave enough. The kind of person he’d like to know more about—be it vertical or horizontal.
Stop it! He tried to push those thoughts from his crowded head. Carrie just wasn’t that kind of girl. And instead of lessening the attraction it only heightened it.
He reached up and pulled one of her long chestnut curls from behind her ear. ‘I like your hair down. It’s beautiful. Really flattering.’ He hesitated a second as his finger brushed the side of her face. He didn’t want to push this. He didn’t want to scare her off.
Even though his male urges were giving him a whole other vibe his brain kept jumping in to keep him in check. ‘Sexy,’ he murmured, holding his breath to see the effect of his words.
He could almost predict she would tense and pull away. It was the biggest part of Carrie that he’d seen over the past couple of days.
But something had changed. The dim lights, the candles or just her new relaxed state meant that instead of pulling away she brushed closer against him and rested her hands on his shoulders. ‘Sexy—I like that.’ Her breath was dancing against his skin. He had to let her be the one to make the move. He had to be sure about this.
Those few seconds seemed like forever.
But she did move. Her body pressed against his a little more firmly and he felt her rise up on her tiptoes. Her lips brushed gently against his, then with a little more confidence her kisses became surer. His hands moved to her ribs; he could feel her deep breaths against the palms of his hands. He couldn’t stop them. He wanted to do more.
She had one hand on his back, the other at the side of his face as she deepened their kiss, teasing him with her tongue.
It was driving him crazy. She was driving him crazy.
He wanted to release the emotions and passions that were currently stifled in his chest doing their best impression of a smouldering volcano. But Carrie had to feel in control. He could sense how important that was.
He had to concentrate. He couldn’t lose himself in this. It was far too tempting. Far too tempting by half.
All he had to do was edge his hands a little higher and then he would feel her warm skin, be able to cup the warm mounds of her breasts and...
He stepped back. Slowly, pulling his lips apart from hers. Careful to let her know he hadn’t suddenly changed his mind about this.
His voice was hoarse. Too much pent-up expectation. ‘I hate to remind you, Carrie McKenzie, but we have a sleeping baby downstairs. We’ve only been gone a few minutes but if you distract me for another second...’ He let his voice drift off, leaving her in no doubt as to his meaning.
He wasn’t pulling away from her because he didn’t want to kiss her.
He was pulling away because right now he should.
She bit her lip.
A tiny movement. And one that could be the complete undoing of him. He wanted to slam her apartment door shut and drag her through to the bedroom. And forget about everything else and everyone.
But on the floor underneath them lay a little boy. He’d already been abandoned by one adult. He certainly didn’t need to be abandoned by two others.
Daniel’s sense of duty ground down on his chest.
He tugged at his jeans, trying to adjust them. Some human reactions were as natural as breathing.
Others he would have to control.
She nodded. ‘Let me grab a few things that I might need.’ She picked up one of the candles and walked over to her bedroom, opening a cupboard and pulling a few items of clothing out.
In the flickering candlelight he could make out the outline of her bed and possessions scattered around the room. A smile danced across his lips. Carrie McKenzie’s bedroom. Would he ever get an invite into there?
It wasn’t entirely what he’d expected. No flowers. No pink.
A bright green duvet, a mountain of pillows and a matching fleece comforter across the bottom of the bed. An electronic tablet and a few books were scattered on the bedside table, along with a few other obligatory candles. He wondered what scent they were. What scent she liked to fall asleep to.
A silver box lay on top of the bedclothes.
Her eyes flickered over to it and there was something—was it panic?—before she moved quickly, picked up the box and tucked it under the bed. She tucked the assorted clothes under her arm and appeared under his nose. ‘Ready.’
It was just a little too bright. A little too forced. As if she was trying to distract him.
He’d just been kissing this woman but there were still parts of her she wanted to keep hidden. A tiny flare of anger lit in his stomach, only for him to extinguish it almost as quickly. He should know better than most. Everyone had secrets they wanted to hide. Parts of their life they wanted to remain hidden. Why should Carrie be any different?
‘Let’s go. We need to check on Abraham, and Mrs Van Dyke.’
He turned to follow her out of the door. And then it hit him.
That was what was wrong with this place.
There was nothing really of Carrie.
Oh, she might have her candles and a few books.
But there were no photos. Not a single one.
It sent a strange sensation down his spine. Every woman he’d ever known had pictures of their friends and family dotted around. Even he had some family pictures in various places around his apartment.
Carrie didn’t have one. Not a single one.
What did that mean? She’d been here two months, surely enough time to get some family snaps out. Wasn’t there anyone to miss back home?
‘Dan, what’s wrong? Let’s go.’ Carrie stuck her head back around the door, her impatience clear. Or was it her hurry to get him out of her apartment?
With one last look around he followed her out and pulled the door shut behind him.
There was more to Carrie McKenzie than met the eye.
And he was determined to get to the bottom of it.
