Christmas Baby For The Billionaire. DONNA ALWARD

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      He opened the gate and stepped onto the deck. He had gloves on his hands, but her fingers were bare and red. “You should be wearing gloves.”

      “They make my fingers too clunky,” she answered, going back to the string of lights.

      Jeremy moved forward and took them from her, then removed his gloves, tucked them beneath his arm, and took her hands in his. They were icy cold, and he chafed his fingers over hers to warm them. “Here. Put these on.”

      “Jeremy, I’m—”

      “Shh. They’re warm.” He tugged the gloves over her fingers. They were too big, but she flexed her hands and he knew the material still held some of his heat.

      Moments ago he’d been ready to take her on if she decided to play hardball. Now he was giving her gloves for her cold fingers. For a moment he wondered if he was a weak man, but then he reminded himself that being on good terms would only help matters in the end.

      “Let me do a few of these. You show me how you want them.”

      “I’m just looping them on each post, see?” She held out a hand full of tie wraps. “Putting these on them, and snipping the ends with cutters.”

      Unease slipped through him. She was looping them, certainly, but he went back and saw how she did it and tried to re-create the same positioning of the string, though it took a few tries. And the tie wrap… He figured out that one end went through the other and he had to pull it tight, but it was a foreign sensation. He was not a handy kind of guy, in any sense. Someone had always done that sort of thing at home. He had many talents. Being handy was not one of them.

      Ugh. He really was a spoiled brat, wasn’t he?

      She reached into her pocket for her cutters, then tightened his wrap a bit more and snipped the end. “Have you never hung Christmas lights?” she asked.

      “First time,” he admitted, pulling on the strand until it was taut again. His fingers were already getting cold; how had she managed to put this many up without getting frostbite? But he pushed on because he didn’t want her to think he was a wimp or completely inept. Together they positioned, fastened and clipped the lights into place. Once they traded gloves so he could warm his hands, too, and then he put the lights up and over the arched entrance to the deck. “Will anyone even come out here?” he asked, trying hard not to shiver. He was pretty sure he couldn’t feel his ears anymore.

      “No. But we always put the lights up and a lit tree out here. It looks nice from the beach and also from the dining room.”

      He clapped his hands together for warmth. “You mean we still have to do a tree?”

      “What’s the matter, not used to the cold?”

      New York got plenty cold in the winter, but the icy wind off the ocean was going right through him today. When he didn’t answer right away, she laughed—a soft, musical sound that suddenly made him feel lighter. “Your ears are pink. We’d better get you inside. Don’t worry, we set up the tree inside and then move it out. Thanks for your help, though. My fingers appreciate it.”

      “You’re welcome.” Despite the cold, it had been kind of fun.

      She looked at her watch. “It’s nearly noon. Do you want to come in for some lunch? Or do you have appointments?”

      He shrugged. “I don’t have an appointment until two, so I have an hour to spare.”

      She opened the door that led from the deck to the dining room. “Our chef, Neil, does a curried carrot and ginger soup that is amazing. Definitely cold-weather comfort food.”

      They went inside and he watched as Tori went to the bar and spoke to the server behind the counter. When she came back, she led them to a table near the fireplace and hung her jacket over a chair. “Phew,” she said, sitting down. “I’m not going to lie, that fire feels wonderful.”

      There were a handful of guests in the dining room, but it was otherwise quiet. “Not your busy time of year, huh?”

      She shook her head as he took the chair opposite her. “No. The weekends are busier. People out for dinner, and our Sunday brunch is amazing.” She looked up, and he got caught in her eyes again. Today her hazel eyes looked more green than brown, and her thick lashes made them seem bigger. He wondered if their baby would have her eyes.

      “I’ll have to try it while I’m here.”

      He sat back when the waitress came over with a basket of warm rolls and pats of butter. “Your lunch will be right out, Ms. Sharpe.”

      “Thank you, Ellen.”

      Tori looked up at him, a smile on her lips. “You warming up yet? Your ears aren’t quite so pink.”

      He chuckled a little, his gaze stuck on her lips. Just his luck he couldn’t quite forget kissing them. There could be none of that now. “The fire is helping. The wind is so bitter today.”

      “So why were you walking the beach?” she asked, picking up a roll and breaking it in half.

      “Thinking,” he replied, meeting her gaze. “I had a lot to think about.”

      “And did you come to any conclusions?”

      Her voice was calm, but he could see a tightening around her mouth. She was nervous about this, too. It gave him a little comfort. The lives they’d both built—separately—were about to be disrupted.

      “A few,” he admitted. “But I’m not sure you’re ready to hear them.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      UNEASE SETTLED THROUGH HER, making her limbs feel heavy and her breath short. This was never going to be easy, but despite all the thinking she’d been doing the last twenty-four hours, she felt ill-prepared for whatever was going to come out of his mouth next.

      She nibbled on a corner of the roll, though her appetite was diminishing rapidly. “Oh?” she asked, keeping her voice deceptively light.

      He met her gaze and held it. “One thing is for sure, Tori—I can’t go back to New York and pretend that this isn’t happening. I’m going to be a father. I’m not going to abandon you or my child.”

      Tears stung her eyes and she looked down at the napkin in her lap. It was lovely to know that he accepted the pregnancy and wanted to be a part of their baby’s life. But it stung that they were no more than an obligation to him; that he was tied to them out of duty and DNA and not affection.

      “Thank you,” she whispered.

      “And whatever you need, you only have to ask. You need to know I’m willing and able to support you financially.”

      Financially. She clenched her fingers into fists under the table.

      “Tori?”

      She’d been silent so long he reached over and touched her arm, prompting her to look up. She СКАЧАТЬ