Falling For The Single Dad. Jessica Hart
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Название: Falling For The Single Dad
Автор: Jessica Hart
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon M&B
isbn: 9781474097680
isbn:
‘I don’t think I did her any favours,’ he said gruffly. ‘Maybe if I’d left her there, or handed her over to the aid agencies…’
‘Then what? She would have had a child and no way of supporting it except prostitution. Would you want that for her?’
He shook his head. ‘But she didn’t deserve to die.’
‘Of course not, but life’s a bitch, Harry. You gave her hope, gave her a home—and you’ve given her baby a home and a father, safety and security for the rest of her life.’
‘We have yet to survive it, of course,’ he said wryly. ‘Only time will tell.’
‘You’ll survive it.’ She tipped up her face and smiled at him, her hand coming up to cradle his jaw with gentle fingers. ‘You’ll be a wonderful father, Harry. Give yourself time.’
He nodded slightly, not sure if he could believe her but no longer really thinking about it, because her eyes were tender, her mouth was full and soft and, oh, so close, and without thinking, without giving himself time to analyse or argue or reason, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.
Oh, dear heaven, she tasted the same. All these years and he could remember her taste, her scent, the feel of her lips under his, the soft stroke of her tongue against his, the tiny sigh, the warmth of her breath, the frantic beating of her heart against his fingertips as his hand glided down over the hollow of her throat and settled against a soft, full breast, fuller than before, her body a woman’s now, lush and generous, the curves just right for his hand.
And he wanted her as he had never wanted her before, as an adult, a man who knew all the joys in store instead of a hormonal youth who simply hoped to find out. And the knowledge was almost enough to destroy his self-control, to push him over the edge.
But then, just as he was about to let her go, when his mind was already pulling back even as his hand curled against her breast, she lifted her head away, her eyes confused, and said, ‘Kizzy.’
Kizzy? What had Kizzy to do with it?
And then he heard her crying, her screams getting louder by the second.
He jerked himself to his feet, strode towards the door and bounded upstairs, his heart racing and his body clamouring to turn round and go back and finish what they’d started…
Emily sagged back against the cushions and lifted her hand to her lips. Had it really always felt that good? And if so, how on earth had they ever stopped?
She closed her eyes and waited for her heart to slow, listening to his voice, a soft rumble on the stairs as he carried Kizzy down. Her cries subsided for the moment, a cuddle enough to comfort her for now.
Emily nearly laughed aloud. A cuddle from Kizzy’s father was nothing like enough to comfort her. She wanted more—much more—but she’d be insane to let this crazy situation go any further, because whatever else she knew about Harry, she knew that Yoxburgh wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him for long.
He’d always talked about seeing the world—a result of his restless upbringing, trailing round the globe in the wake of his parents who had been too busy to pay attention to their little son. So although he’d never had their love, he’d had experiences in spades, and the wanderlust that was a part of his father’s make up was part of his also.
And so he’d go—maybe not now, maybe not for a while, but eventually, when it all got too dull and easy and the world beckoned. And she’d be left, broken-hearted as Pete could never have left her, because although she’d thought she’d loved Pete, she knew full well that an affair with Harry had the potential to bring her far more joy and far more sorrow than Pete could ever have done, because he’d never had that unerring capacity to touch her soul.
So she simply wasn’t going to go there, not now, not ever. And if they’d got scarily close on the night of his grandmother’s funeral, they weren’t getting that close again. No way. It was far too dangerous.
She could hear him in the kitchen, hear Kizzy starting up again, and taking a deep breath to steady her, she got to her feet and went through. ‘Want a hand?’
‘I’m OK,’ he said, his back to her and his voice tight.
Damn.
‘I’m going to do some work, then,’ she said, and went into the study and shut the door a little more firmly than was quite necessary, just to be on the safe side.
‘Oh, Kizzy, what did I go and do that for?’ he murmured, staring down at his tiny daughter with regret. ‘We were getting on so well, and now I’ve gone and screwed everything up, but she was just there, you know, and I just wanted to kiss her. Nothing else. What a silly daddy.’
He took the bottle out of her mouth and propped her up against his shoulder, rubbing her back until she burped gloriously in his ear, then he gave her the rest of the bottle, cuddled her for a minute and then took her back up, changed her and put her down in the travel cot Em had found in the loft.
Kizzy went out like a light, without a murmur, which left him nothing to do but go back downstairs and sit and watch the study door and wonder if Emily was mad with him.
He paused in Freddie’s doorway, staring down at the sleeping boy. He was huge compared to Kizzy, but he was still a baby really, his steps sometimes unsteady, his chin only too ready to wobble if things went wrong. Beth wasn’t that much older, either, but quite different, bright and beautiful and full of mischief, her sparkling eyes just like Em’s.
Beth was lying sprawled across the bed, too close to the edge, and he shifted her back and covered her again before heading downstairs with all the enthusiasm of a French aristo going to the guillotine.
He owed Em an apology, and he wasn’t sure if he dared be in the room with her long enough to make it. At least not without a table between them to keep them apart.
He went into the kitchen, made some tea and tapped on the study door. ‘Em?’
‘Come in,’ she said, turning towards him with a wary look in her eyes as he pushed the door open and went in, tray in hand.
‘I’ve brought you tea.’
‘Thanks.’
He hung on to the tray, because if it was in his hands he couldn’t do anything else with them. ‘My pleasure. And we haven’t eaten. Want me to cook something?’
She swivelled her chair a little farther and reached for the tea. ‘What can you cook?’
He laughed. ‘Probably nothing English. What have you got to work with?’
‘All sorts. I did a big shop the other day. Go and have a look. I just want to finish this off and I’ll come and give you a hand.’
He nodded and went out, sighing with relief that the awkwardness seemed to have gone and their friendship was back on track.
Unless he poisoned her! He opened the fridge and studied the contents. Peppers, chicken breast, onions, tiny cherry tomatoes, salad, apples in the fruit bowl, couscous in the larder cupboard and spices in the rack СКАЧАТЬ