you will,” said Kelly. “You’re tough and smart, Hayley Bravo. Nobody pushes you around. You survived our poor, screwed-up mom and the foster care system with a positive attitude and a heck of a lot of heart. You’re going to be just fine—and your baby, too.”
“Say that again.”
“It’ll work out. You’ll see.”
Hayley took another bite of her sandwich and fervently hoped that her sister was right.
She found Marcus sitting in one of the wicker chairs by her front door when she got home from work that night. He wore a pricey gray trench over a beautiful charcoal suit and he looked as if he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ.
She met those ice-green eyes and felt an unwilling thrill skate along the surface of her skin. In spite of everything—her stomach out to here, her wounded heart, and the threat he posed to the destiny of her child—the man could steal her breath away with just a look.
“It’s after six,” he muttered, those eyes of his looking dangerous and shadowed, the Christmas lights that twined the railing casting his sculpted cheekbones into rugged relief. “What kind of hours are you working, anyway?”
“Nice to see you, too.” She unlocked the front door and pushed it inward, then stepped back to gesture him in ahead of her.
He rose with a certain manly, regal grace that made her want to do sexy things to his tall, lean body, things she shouldn’t want to do to him after the way he’d turned her down months ago—things she probably couldn’t do in her current condition.
“Are you all right?” He was scowling. “I don’t like it. You on your feet all day with the baby coming any minute now.”
“I’m not due for almost a month. And I’m hardly working on my feet. I’m at a desk, thank you very much. Tonight, we had two events—a cocktail thing and a small dinner party—on the schedule, so I stayed a little late to give a hand with the last-minute details.” As usual, there had been yelling on the part of the chef, Federico. Sofia, the owner, had yelled back. And it all came together beautifully in the end, just as it always did.
“Caterers,” he grumbled. “I know how they are. Damn temperamental. Lots of shouting, everything a big drama.” Okay, so he had Sofia—and Federico—nailed. No way she was copping to it. “It can’t be good for the baby, for you to be in a stressful environment like that.”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
“This issue bears repeating.”
“It’s not good for the baby if I get pneumonia, either.” She pulled her coat a little closer against the evening chill. “But still, you seem determined to keep me standing out here all night.”
He said something under his breath—something unpleasant, she had no doubt—and then, at last, he acquiesced to enter her apartment. Close on his heels, she turned on the light and shut the door.
They faced each other across the cramped entry area.
“You’re back early….” She forced a smile, feeling suddenly strange about all this: the two of them, the baby, all the ways he’d denied her seven months ago, the secret she’d kept that she had no right to keep, a secret as pointless as it was wrong.
Because, in the end, here he was again. Back in her life. Determined to look after her and the baby whether they needed looking after or not.
“I took a few days off,” he said with a scowl.
“You never take days off.”
“First time for everything.”
“I thought you had…meetings.”
“I did. I made them quick. I cleared my calendar. For tomorrow and the next day.” His eyes held a flinty gleam and the determined set to that sensual slash of a mouth told her that he had plans. Plans concerning her and the baby and their future. Plans that he would implement within the next forty-eight hours—whether she liked them or not.
Hayley kept her smile in place. “Your coat?” He shrugged out of it. She hung it up, along with her own. “A drink?”
“No. Thanks.”
Seeking a little good cheer—as well as an excuse to put some distance between them—she went to the tree. Dropping to an awkward crouch, she plugged it in. The Christmas lights came on, so happy and bright. Festive.
In all the years of her lonely childhood, there had always been a tree: in the group home, where she went between families. And in the various foster homes. And there was always at least one gift for her under each of those trees. So that she’d come to think of Christmas as something special, something magical and glowing in an otherwise drab life lived out in a series of other people’s houses. Christmas was colorful, and optimistic, with joyous music that brought a fond tear to her eye.
Funny, but Kelly said she felt just the same way about the holidays….
“Come on.” Marcus was there, standing above her. He held down a hand. She put hers in it, shocked at how good it felt—to touch his long, strong fingers again….
Oh, she would have to watch herself. She was just a big sucker when it came to this man.
He pulled her heavy body upward and she let him, leaning into him a little—but not too much. And as soon as she was upright, she stepped back, away from the delicious temptation to press herself and their baby against him, to find out if he would put those lean arms around her, if he’d cradle her close and put his lips to her hair.
She asked, “Have you eaten?”
“It’s not necessary for you to—”
“Not the question. Did you have dinner?”
“No.”
“I made spaghetti last night, before you…dropped in. There’s plenty left. I’ll just heat it up and do the salad. Have a seat. The remote’s right there on the arm of the couch. Watch the news. It won’t take long….”
He stared at her for several seconds. She wondered what he might be thinking. Finally, with a shrug, he went over to the couch and sat down.
A short time later, she called him to the kitchen. He turned off the news and came to join her at her tiny table. They ate mostly in silence. She found her small appetite had fled completely. Dread was taking up what little space there was in her stomach. Still, she forced herself to put the food in her mouth, to slowly chew, to grimly swallow. The baby needed dinner. And really, so did she.
When they were through, Marcus got up and cleared the table while she loaded the dishwasher and wiped the counters. Then they went to the living room. He took a chair and she sat on the couch.
Her pulse, she realized as she sank into the cushions, had sped into overdrive. Her palms had gone clammy. And her stomach was aching, all twisted with tension. The baby kicked. She winced and put her hand over the spot.
“Are you sick?” He frowned at her. She shook her head. “Just…dreading this conversation.”
“You’re
