She hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring.
He sat up straighter. She’d left her job as his assistant and left him in…May. Seven months ago.
In his mind’s eye, he saw her answering the door again, her hand on her stomach. Her beach-ball-sized stomach.
Marcus was no expert on pregnancy, but didn’t she look further along than seven months? Really, she looked to him to be almost ready to have the kid…
His heart slammed into his breastbone, and his stomach rolled as the world seemed to tip on its axis.
Marcus yanked the key from the ignition and got out of the car. He raced across the pavement and up the three stone steps to the gate.
“Marcus.” She answered the door immediately, as if she’d been waiting for him to finally add two and two and come up with four.
“Is it mine?”
CHRISTINE RIMMER
came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything, including an actress, a sales clerk and a waitress. Now Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at her new home on the web at www.christinerimmer.com.
Dear Reader,
In this season of miracles, anything could happen. The man you loved and lost might just come looking for you – only to discover you’re about to give birth to a little miracle of your own. The huge extended family you never dreamed of having might be yours after all – and you might be invited to a fabulous family reunion in Las Vegas.
Hey. It could happen. And it does. To Hayley Bravo, about-to-be single mum.
That’s not all. Hayley has recently discovered she has a sister named Kelly and a brother, Tanner. Watch for their stories in the coming months (Kelly’s is first, in February 2009 – Valentine’s Secret Child).
And happy holidays to you all. May the season bring you joy and love and the company of dear ones.
Yours always,
Christine Rimmer
A Bravo Christmas Reunion
Christine Rimmer
For Betty Lowe, lifelong friend
and loyal reader,
what endures is the laughter,
the caring,
the sharing.
In the end, there is always
Love.
Chapter One
Marcus Reid knew damn well that he should stay away from Hayley Bravo. Far, far away.
Since she dumped him and left Seattle, he’d worked harder than ever, rising before dawn to push his body to the limit in his personal gym, burning the midnight oil at the office, driving himself to exhaustion every day. Evenings when he didn’t have to be at his corporate headquarters, he kept himself good and busy. He dated, making it a point to get out more—with gorgeous, attentive, appreciative women. Women more glamorous than Hayley, women more sophisticated than Hayley. Agreeable women. Women who had sense enough not to ask the impossible of him.
Yeah. It had taken him months to get over Hayley. A lot longer, if you wanted the hard truth, than he’d expected. Getting over Hayley had turned out to be one hell of a job. Almost as hard as dealing with his ex-wife Adriana’s final desertion.
But he’d managed it.
Or so he kept telling himself. He was over Hayley. Done. Finished.
So why was he standing on the doorstep of her Sacramento apartment on that cold evening in mid-December?
Since Marcus had no intention of answering that particular question, he banished it from his mind with a shake of his head.
The complex she lived in was perfectly ordinary, built around a central courtyard, the boxy units accessed from outside. Low to midrange in price, he would guess. She’d lived a lot better when she worked for him. He’d seen to it. Not only a fat salary, but a big expense account and a luxury car, compliments of his company, Kaffe Central. And then there were the gifts he’d showered on her….
Now she was on her own, she’d be watching her budget. That bothered him, the thought of her pinching pennies to get along. Though their relationship had ended, some part of him still wanted to take care of her.
Light glowed in the window to the left of her door. Through the partly open blinds, he could see she had put up a Christmas tree. And he could hear music, faintly. A Christmas song?
Hayley was into the Christmas crap big-time. Strings of lights twined on the railing of her second floor landing, where she’d made herself a sort of patio with a couple of wicker chairs and a wooden crate for a table. A miniature tree, tiny lights twinkling, topped the crate—and he was stalling, checking out her Christmas decorations instead of getting on with it.
Time to make a move. Ring the bell. Or get the hell out of there.
He sucked in a big breath, lifted his hand and gave her doorbell a punch.
After a few never-ending seconds, the door swung wide. The music from inside swelled louder: “White Christmas.”
And there she was, the light from behind her haloing her red hair. Those eyes that managed to be blue and gray and green all at once went wide with surprise. And a bright smile died unborn on that mouth that he’d loved to kiss.
“Marcus!” Her expression was not encouraging. Far from it. She looked…pained. Slightly panicked, even. She brought her hand to her mouth and then lowered it—to her stomach.
He tracked the movement, watched as her palm settled on the round shape of her belly, fingers curving gently. Protectively. He stared at her pale hand and the roundness beneath it, trying to accept what he saw.
It was…enormous, her stomach. It looked as if she had a beach ball tucked in there, beneath the tentlike red sweater she wore.
Too stunned to fake politeness, he shut his gaping mouth—and then opened it again to accuse roughly, “You’re pregnant.” He lifted his gaze and met her eyes again.
She was frowning, more worried now than panicked. “Marcus. Are you okay? You look—”
“I’m fine.” Outright lie. His stomach churned, spurting acid. He needed to hit someone. Preferably whatever bastard had dared to put his hands on her, to do that to her.
