To Be A Husband. Carole Mortimer

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      CHAPTER ONE

      GAYE looked up at the man as he walked nonchalantly down the corridor from the security desk toward the nurses’ station where she sat. He appeared in no hurry; in fact he strolled along as if he had all the time in the world. Which was unusual in this private maternity home; the men who visited were either new fathers already, or about to become so at any moment. In either case they were usually much more eager to be with their wives or partners at this time than this man appeared to be.

      A reluctant father, Gaye decided ruefully. But his casual stroll down the hallway allowed her time to study him even as she waited for the telephone call she had made to be answered. And this man was definitely worth studying—even to Gaye’s jaundiced eye...

      He was tall, well over six feet, with thick golden-blond hair that was inclined to curl, and a face so perfectly sculptured, he might have been too perfect if it weren’t for the fact that at some stage in his life his nose had been broken, leaving it slightly crooked, adding a certain arrogance to his aristocratic face. His dark suit, Gaye could see, no matter how easily he wore it, was tailor-made, and very expensive, the pristine white of the shirt he wore beneath it emphasising his deep mahogany tan.

      That tan was even more noticeable as he reached her desk and smiled, his teeth very white and even. ‘Hello,’ he greeted warmly, laughter-lines crinkling beside the sensuality of his mouth, his gaze appreciative.

      Those eyes held Gaye mesmerised as she put her hand over the receiver and looked up at him enquiringly, letting the phone carry on ringing at the other end; it remained unanswered—expectant fathers, despite their wives’ obvious condition, could sometimes be most difficult to contact!

      But Gaye had never seen eyes the colour of this man’s before. A deep, beautiful gold—the colour of gold when it was melted down to liquid, variations of light and dark. Lion’s eyes. Amazing!

      But as he looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties he was probably well aware of the effect his looks had on women, and Gaye made sure her voice sounded businesslike as she answered him. ‘Can I help you?’ she enquired.

      That devastating smile remained. ‘I’m sure yon can, Nurse—Royal.’ He filled in her surname after a glance at the name-tag pinned to her uniform just above her left breast. ‘My name is Hunter, and—’

      ‘Hunter!’ she repeated sharply, putting down the telephone receiver to stand up abruptly. ‘I was just trying to contact you. We’ve been telephoning you for the last hour—’

      ‘You have?’ He frowned his puzzlement at her sudden urgency on hearing his name. ‘But, as I understood the situation, Abbie was only brought in a couple of hours ago—’

      ‘In the early stages of premature labour,’ Gaye confirmed, even as she spoke sizing him up for the gown he was shortly going to need. ‘Mrs Hunter is on her way to Theatre now. If we hurry, you can still be present for the birth.’ As her husband so rightly said, Abbie Hunter had only been admitted two hours ago; her onset of labour was only three weeks early, but there were other complications that had prompted the specialist to decide on an emergency Caesarean; that was the reason they had been trying so desperately to contact СКАЧАТЬ