be good if you could get different pictures and different tunes—all you’d have to do would be to slot a different card in. A Christmas one with Father Christmas in a train, and stars and Christmas trees and holly. Nice soft lullaby versions of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” or something. It’d be more fun than the piped carols they’ll insist on playing on our ward from the middle of next week,’ Toby mused.
‘You’ve missed your vocation. You could’ve been a toy designer,’ Saskia teased.
‘Secondary career.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll definitely get my own kids one. Then, when they’ve grown out of it, they can pass it on to me.’
His kids. And she couldn’t have children.
‘Saskia?’
Uh-oh. He’d noticed she’d gone silent. ‘What?’
‘That wasn’t a come-on.’
‘I didn’t think it was,’ she said stiffly.
‘Besides, you’re losing your touch.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You haven’t dated anyone for two months.’
Two months. Since the day she had been diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and the bottom had fallen out of her world.
She made herself sound bored. ‘That’s because there’s nobody worth dating at the hospital.’
‘No?’ There was something odd about his voice, but she didn’t dare look at him. She didn’t want him to be able to read her face, guess what she’d been hiding from him for the last two months. It’d come out in the end, she knew that—and he’d be hurt that she hadn’t told him. But she didn’t know where to start, and the longer she left it the more afraid she was.
‘No,’ she said firmly, and concentrated her attention on the light show.
Mmm. Warm and soft and comforting. This was nice. Saskia snuggled back against the body wrapped round hers.
And then her mind jackknifed awake.
A body, wrapped round hers? Where was Helena? Was the baby all right? She struggled against the enfolding arms, desperate to get up and check the baby.
‘Go back to sleep,’ a deep voice mumbled against her shoulder.
A voice she recognised. Toby’s.
Then she remembered. They’d shared the care of Helena last night. Except she’d fallen asleep and he’d obviously been the one to stay awake and look after their god-daughter. Guilt flooded through her. ‘Where’s Helena?’
‘Asleep in her Moses basket. I checked her in the night—she was cooler and she was more likely to overheat between us, so I moved her.’
Short, to the point and exactly what she needed to know. Well, nearly what she needed to know. There was one question he hadn’t answered. Why hadn’t he gone back to his own bed?
And then she realised something else. His left hand was underneath her pyjama top, cupping her left breast. His thumb was resting against her nipple. Her erect nipple.
It sent her into a tailspin. This was her best friend. She’d never, but never, thought about having sex with him.
Well, OK, she’d thought about it. But she hadn’t actually done it. Apart from one kiss at a Christmas party, and he hadn’t even remembered it the next day. If he had…
There was no point in thinking that way. It hadn’t happened. And she wasn’t going to wreck their friendship after all these years over just a little sex.
A friendship that would be wrecked anyway when he found the woman of his dreams, a little voice said in her head. So why deny them both the pleasure?
Common sense fought a brief battle with the little voice. And lost. Particularly when she noticed that his thumb was moving. Very gently, very tentatively—but definitely moving. Teasing her.
‘Toby?’
‘Mmm?’ His voice was still sleepy. Yet he’d sounded very clear a couple of minutes before when he’d spoken about the baby. So was he putting on the sleepy bit, or was it the result of years of practice as a hospital doctor of being on call—waking up, dealing with a patient and then snatching some sleep whenever and wherever he could?
‘Are you asleep?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
Actually, his mouth felt rather nice against her shoulder. Skin to skin. Just where the neck of her pyjama top had slipped in the night.
‘Is Helena asleep?’
‘Yes.’
Was that her imagination, or had he just nibbled her shoulder? Experimentally, she wriggled her bottom against him.
‘Saskia?’
‘Mmm-hmm?’
‘Stop fidgeting.’
‘You’re fidgeting,’ she pointed out. And wished she hadn’t, when his thumb stopped moving.
Though his hand stayed exactly where it was. So did his mouth.
Her call, then. Keep things as they were between them—the best of friends? Or make this their swansong before she gave everything up?
The tingling in her fingers decided her. The tiny little sign, together with the numbness, that had hacked the bottom out of her world. She was about to lose everything. So, what the hell? He clearly wanted this, too, or his body wouldn’t be plastered against hers, would it? She wriggled again.
‘Saskia. I’m only human.’ His voice sounded thick, tortured. ‘If you push me…’
So she pushed. Simply by twining her left hand in his and moving his thumb.
He was dreaming. Definitely dreaming. Saskia Hayward was in his arms, in his bed, and she was inciting him to make love to her.
Or maybe he’d died and gone to heaven.
Toby was past coherent thought. All he could do was touch. Feel. Slowly, he undid her pyjama top. Button by button. Lord, her skin was soft. He cupped one breast again, and a whoop of delight sang through his head. She was as aroused as he was, her breasts swollen and full.
He was almost afraid to look at her face—please, please, don’t let her be doing this out of pity, he begged silently—but when he turned her to face him, her eyes were dark and her pupils were huge with desire. For him.
And no way could he resist the fullness of her lower lip. He bent his head and kissed her. Lightly, at first, but then her mouth opened under his. Just as it had that time beneath the mistletoe.
He could have spent a year just kissing Saskia, but his body was urging him to explore further, deeper. He felt like a kid who’d just been let loose in
