Midwife's Mistletoe Baby

Praise for Fiona McArthur:

‘CHRISTMAS WITH HER EX is everything a good medical romance should be, and it tells a story which resonates with everything Christmas stands for.’

—HarlequinJunkie

‘McArthur does full justice to an intensely emotional scene of the delivery of a stillborn baby—one that marks a turning point in both the characters’ outlooks. The entire story is liberally spiced with drama, heartfelt emotion and just a touch of humour.’

—RT Book Reviews on SURVIVAL GUIDE TO DATING YOUR BOSS

‘MIDWIFE IN A MILLION by Fiona McArthur will leave readers full of exhilaration. Ms McArthur has created characters that any reader could fall in love with.’

—CataRomance

Midwife’s Mistletoe Baby

Fiona McArthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader

Welcome to Rayne and Maeve in Lyrebird Lake at Christmas time.

Wow. I hope you have fun with this. I was grinning all the way through. Rayne and Maeve wrote their story and I was just trying to keep up with them—two people with sooo much sexual chemistry between them, and both of them such determined people in their own right, with really tough dilemmas.

Most of my heroes and heroines are pretty private, and they prefer it if I leave the bedroom door firmly closed—but, while still avoiding anatomical explanations, Rayne and Maeve are so aware of the physical in each other they just can’t keep their hands off and sometimes forget to shut the door. But it’s still sweet.

So it’s not surprising that after an explosive first night, right at the beginning, Maeve falls pregnant. As Rayne says, ‘If there was one night when, no matter how many precautions were used, a determined sperm would get through that was the night.’

Fast forward nine months and Rayne returns, unaware that Maeve is about to have his baby—and as a guy emotionally scarred by his childhood and with no male role model he can’t see how he can become the kind of father Maeve’s baby deserves.

Maeve has to come to terms with the fact that Rayne walked away, didn’t answer her letters, and let her down in her pregnancy. But he’s here now—exactly what she so desperately wanted for Christmas—and after the first day with him back she believes in him … believes that Rayne has the potential to share the love he’s never had a chance to share. She just has to help him to see it, and hopefully he’ll become a believer before she has this baby. Thankfully she’s in Lyrebird Lake, and with all the people she needs around her this is the place to do it.

I’d really love to hear what you think of Rayne and Maeve’s journey.

Warmest wishes

Fi

PS I really loved Simon giving Tara, from the previous book, Russian dolls for Christmas!

Dedication

Dedicated to my darling husband, Ian.

Because I love you

xx Fiona

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Fiona McArthur

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

PROLOGUE

March

RAYNE WALTERS BREATHED a sigh of relief as he passed through immigration and then customs at Sydney airport, deftly texted—I’m through—and walked swiftly towards the exit. Simon would be quick to pick him up. Very efficient was Simon.

He’d had that feeling of disaster closing in since the hiccough at LA when he’d thought he’d left it too late. But the customs officers had just hesitated and then frowned at him and waved him through.

He needed to get to Simon, the one person he wanted to know the truth, before it all exploded in his face. Hopefully not until he made it back to the States. Though they were the same age, and the same height, Simon was like a brother and mentor when he’d needed to make life choices for good rather than fast decisions.

But this choice was already made. He just wanted it not to come as a shock to the one other person whose good opinion mattered. He wasn’t looking forward to Simon’s reaction, and there would be anger, but the steps were already in motion.

A silver car swung towards him. There he was. He lifted his hand and he could see Simon’s smile as he pulled over.

‘Good to see you, mate.’

‘You too.’ They’d never been demonstrative, Rayne had found it too hard——but their friendship in Simon’s formative years had been such a light in his grey days, and a few hilarious hell-bent nights, so that just seeing Simon made him feel better.

They pulled out into the traffic and his friend spoke without looking at him. ‘So what’s so urgent you need to fly halfway around the world you couldn’t tell me on the phone? I can’t believe you’re going back tomorrow morning.’

Rayne glanced at the heavy traffic and decided this mightn’t be a good time to distract Simon with his own impending disaster. Or was that just an excuse to put off the moment? ‘Can we wait till we get to your place?’

He watched Simon frown and then nod. ‘Sure. Though Maeve’s there. She’s just had a break-up so I hope a sister in my house won’t cramp your style.’

Maeve. Little Maeve, Geez. It was good to think of someone other than himself for a minute. She’d been hot as a teenager and he could imagine she’d be drop-dead gorgeous by now. All of Simon’s sisters were but he’d always had a soft spot for Maeve, the youngest. He’d bet, didn’t know why, that Maeve had a big front of confidence when, in fact, he’d suspected she was a lot softer than the rest of the strong females in the house.

Though there’d been a few tricky moments when she’d made sure he knew she fancied him—not politic when you were years older than her. He’d got pretty good at not leaving Simon’s side while Maeve had been around. ‘I haven’t seen Maeve for maybe ten years. She was probably about fifteen and a self-assured little miss then.’

‘Most of the time she is. Still a marshmallow underneath, though. But she makes me laugh.’

She’d made Rayne laugh too, but he’d never mentioned his avoidance techniques to Simon. He doubted Simon would have laughed at that. Rayne knew Simon thrived on protecting his sisters. It had never been said but the Keep away from my sisters sign was clearly planted between them. And Rayne respected that.

‘How are your parents?’ It was always odd, asking, because he’d only had his mum, and Simon had two sets of parents. Simon’s father, who Rayne had known as a kid, had turned out to be Simon’s stepdad and he remembered very well how bitter Simon had been about all the lies. Bitter enough to change his last name.

But Simon’s mum had chosen to go with someone she’d thought could give her accidental child the life she wanted him to have, and had been very happy with Simon’s wealthy stepdad. Simon’s birth father hadn’t known of his son’s existence until Simon had accidentally found out and gone looking for him.

No such fairy-tale for himself. ‘Your father is dead and not worth crying over,’ was all his mother had ever said.

‘You know Dad and Mum moved to Boston?’ Simon’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Dad’s bypass went well and Mum’s keeping us posted.’

‘Good stuff.’ Rayne glanced at his friend and enjoyed the smile that lit Simon’s face. Funnily, he’d never been jealous of Simon’s solid family background. Just glad that he could count this man as his friend and know he wouldn’t be judged. Except maybe in the next half-hour when he broke the news.

Simon went on. ‘And Angus and the Lyrebird Lake contingent are great. I saw them all at Christmas.’ More smiles. He was glad it had all worked out for Simon.

Then the question Rayne didn’t want. ‘And your mum? She been better since you moved her out to live with you?’ Another glance his way and he felt his face freeze as Simon looked at him.

‘Fine.’ If he started there then the whole thing would come out in the car and he just needed a few more minutes of soaking up the good vibes.

Instead, they talked about work.

About Simon’s antenatal breech clinic he was running at Sydney Central. He’d uncovered a passion for helping women avoid unnecessary Caesareans for breech babies when possible and was becoming one of the leaders in re-establishing the practice of experienced care for normal breech births.

‘So how’s your job going?’ Simon looked across. ‘Still the dream job, making fistloads of money doing what you love?’

‘Santa Monica’s great. The house is finished and looking great.’ Funny how unimportant that was in the big picture. ‘My boss wants me to think about becoming one of the directors on the board.’ That wouldn’t happen now. He shook that thought off for later.

‘The operating rooms there are state-of-the-art and we’re developing a new procedure for cleft pallet repair that’s healing twice as fast.’

‘You still doing the community work on Friday down at South Central?’

‘Yep. The kids are great, and we’re slipping in one case a week as a teaching case into the OR in Santa Monica.’ He didn’t even want to think about letting the kids down there but he did have a very promising registrar he was hoping he could talk to, and who could possibly take over, before it all went down.

They turned off the airport link road and in less than five minutes were driving into Simon’s garage. Simon lived across the road from the huge expanse of Botany Bay Rayne had just flown in over. He felt his gut kick with impending doom. Another huge jet flew overhead as the automatic garage door descended and that wasn’t all that was about to go down.

He’d be on one of those jets heading back to America tomorrow morning. Nearly thirty hours’ flying for one conversation. But, then, he’d have plenty of time to sit around when he got back.

Simon ushered him into the house and through into the den as he called out to his sister. ‘We’re back.’

Her voice floated down the stairs. ‘Getting dressed.’ Traces of the voice he remembered with a definite womanly depth to it and the melody of it made him smile.

‘Drink?’ Simon pointed to the tray with whisky glass and decanter and Rayne nodded. He’d had two on the plane. Mostly he’d avoided alcohol since med school but he felt the need for a shot to stiffen his spine for the conversation ahead.

‘Thanks.’ He crossed the room and poured a finger depth. Waved the bottle in Simon’s direction. ‘You?’

‘Nope. I’m not technically on call but my next breech mum is due any day now. I’ll have the soda water to keep you company.’ Rayne poured him a glass of the sparkling water from the bar fridge.

They sat down. Rayne lifted his glass. ‘Good seeing you.’ And it was all about to change.

‘You too. Now, what’s this about?’

Rayne opened his mouth just as Simon’s mobile phone vibrated with an incoming call. Damn. Instead, he took a big swallow of his drink.

Simon frowned at him. Looked at the caller, shrugged his inability to ignore it, and stood up to take the call.

Rayne knew if it hadn’t been important he wouldn’t have answered. Stared down into the dregs of the amber fluid in his glass. Things happened. Shame it had to happen now. That was his life.

‘Sorry, Rayne. I have to go. That’s my patient with the breech baby. I said I’d be there. Back as soon as I can.’ He glanced at the glass. ‘Go easy. I’ll still be your mate, no matter what it is.’

Rayne put the glass down. ‘Good luck.’ With that! He had no doubt about Simon’s professional skill. But he doubted he’d be happy with his friend when he knew.

Rayne watched Simon walk from the room and he was still staring pensively at the door two minutes later when the woman of his dreams sashayed in and the world changed for ever.

One moment. That was all it took. Nothing could have warned him what was about to happen or have prevented him, after one shell-shocked moment, standing up. Not all the disasters in the universe mattered as he walked towards the vision little Maeve had become.

A siren. Calling him without the need for actual words. Her hair loose, thick black waves dancing on her shoulders, and she wore some floating, shimmering, soft shift of apricot that allowed a tantalising glimpse of amazing porcelain cleavage—and no bra, he was pretty sure. A flash of delicious thigh, and then covered again in deceptive modesty. He could feel his heart pound in his throat. Tried to bring it all back to normality but he couldn’t. Poleaxed by not-so-little Maeve.

Maeve paused before entering the room. Drew a breath. She’d spent the day getting ready for this moment. Hair. Nails. Last-minute beauty appointments that had filled the day nicely. When Simon had told her yesterday that Rayne was coming she’d felt her spirits lift miraculously. Gone was the lethargy of self-recriminations from the last month. She really needed to get over that ridiculous inferiority complex she couldn’t seem to shake as the youngest of four high achieving girls.

Here was one man who had never disappointed her. Even though she’d been embarrassingly eager to pester him as a gawky teenager, he’d always made her feel like a princess, and she wanted to look her best. Feel good about herself. Get on with her life after the last fiasco and drop all those stupid regrets that were doing her head in.

She hoped he hadn’t changed. She’d hero-worshiped the guy since the day he’d picked up the lunch box she’d dropped the first time she’d seen him. Her parents’ reservations about Rayne’s background and bad-boy status had only made him more irresistible. At fifteen, twenty had been way out of her reach in age.

Well, things should be different this time and she was going to make sure they were at least on an even footing!

Maybe that’s where the trill of excitement was coming from and she could feel the smile on her face from anticipation as she stepped into view.

That was the last sane thought. A glance across a room, a searing moment of connection that had her pinned in the doorway so that she stopped and leant against the architrave, suddenly in need of support—a premonition that maybe she’d be biting off more than she could chew even flirting with Rayne. This black-shirted, open-collared hunk was no pretty boy she could order around. And yet it was still Rayne.

He rose and stepped towards her, a head taller than her, shoulders like a front-row forward, and those eyes. Black pools of definite appreciation as he crossed the room in that distinctive prowl of a walk he’d always had until he stood beside her.

A long slow smile. ‘Are you here to ruin my life even more?’

God. That voice. Her skin prickled. Could feel her eyebrows lift. Taking in the glory of him. ‘Maybe. Maybe I’m the kind of ruin you’ve been searching for?’

Goodness knew where those words had come from but they slid from her mouth the way her lunch box had dropped from her fingers around ten years ago. The guy was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. And sexy as all get-out!

‘My, my. Look at little Maeve.’

And look at big Rayne. Her girl parts quivered.

‘Wow!’ His voice was low, amused and definitely admiring—and who didn’t like someone admiring?—and the pleasure in the word tickled her skin like he’d brushed her all over. Felt impending kismet again. Felt his eyes glide, not missing a thing.

She looked up. Mesmerised. Skidded away from the eyes—too amazing, instead appreciated the black-as-night hair, that strong nose and determined jaw, and those shoulders that blocked her vision of the world. A shiver ran through her. She was like a lamb beckoning to the wolf.

Another long slow smile that could have melted her bra straps if she’d had one on, then he grew sexy-serious. ‘Haven’t you grown into a beautiful woman? I think we should meet all over again.’ A tilt of those sculpted lips and he held out his hand. ‘I’m Rayne. And you are?’

Moistened her lips. ‘Maeve.’ Pretended her throat wasn’t as dry as a desert. Held out her own hand and he took her fingers and kissed above her knuckles smoothly so that she sucked her breath in.

Then he allowed her hand to fall. ‘Maeve.’ The way he said it raised the hair on her arms again. Like ballet dancers en pointe. ‘Did you know your name means she who intoxicates? I read that somewhere, but not until this moment did I believe it.’

She should have laughed and told him he was corny but she was still shaking like a starstruck mute. Finally she retaliated. ‘Rain. As in wet?’

He laughed. ‘Rayne as in R.A.Y.N.E. My mother hated me.’

‘How is your mother?’

His eyes flickered. ‘Fine.’ Then he seemed to shake off whatever had distracted him and his smile was slow and lethal. ‘Would you like to have a drink with me?’

And of course she said, ‘Yes!’

She watched him cross the room to Simon’s bar and that made her think, only for a millisecond, about her brother. ‘Where’s Simon?’ Thank goodness her brother hadn’t seen that explosion of instant lust between them or he’d be playing bomb demolition expert as soon as he cottoned on.

‘His breech lady has gone into labour and he’s meeting her at the hospital.’

Maeve ticked that obstacle out of the way. A good hour at least but most probably four. She was still languid with residual oxytocin from the Rayne storm as she sank onto the lounge. Then realised she probably should have sat in Simon’s favourite chair, opposite, because if Rayne sat next to her here she doubted she’d be able to keep her hands off him.

He sat down next to her and the force field between them glowed like the lights on the runway across the bay. He handed her a quarter-glass of whisky and toasted her with his own. Their fingers touched and sizzled and their eyes clashed as they sipped.

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ he drawled, and smiled full into her face.

OMG. She licked her lips again and he leaned and took her glass from her hand again and put it down on the coffee table. ‘You really shouldn’t do that.’ Then lifted his finger and gently brushed her bottom lip with aching slowness as he murmured, ‘I’ve been remiss.’

He was coming closer. ‘In what way?’ Who owned that breathy whisper?

‘I didn’t kiss my old friend hello.’ And his face filled her vision and she didn’t make any protest before his lips touched, returned and then scorched hers.

In those first few seconds of connection she could feel a leashed desperation about him that she didn’t understand, because they had plenty of time, an hour at least, but then all thoughts fled as sensation swamped her.

Rayne’s mouth was like no other mouth she’d ever known. Hadn’t even dreamt about. Like velvet steel, smoothly tempered with a suede finish, and the crescendo was deceptively gradual as it steered them both in a sensual duel of lips and tongue and inhalation of whisky breath into a world that beckoned like a light at the end of the tunnel. She hadn’t even known there was a tunnel!

Everything she’d imagined could be out there beckoned and promised so much more. She wanted more, desperately needed more, and lifted her hands to clasp the back of his head, revel in his thick wavy hair sliding through her fingers as she pulled him even closer.

His hands slid down her ribs, across her belly and up under and then circling her breasts through the thin fabric of her silk overshirt. His fingers tightened in deliciously powerful appreciation then he pulled away reluctantly.

‘Silk? I’d hate to spoil this so I’d better stop.’

‘I’ll buy another one,’ she murmured against his lips.

Rayne forced his hands to draw back. It was supposed to be a hello kiss. Holy hell, what was he doing? He’d barely spoken to the woman in ten years and his next stop was definitely lower down. They’d be naked on the floor before he realised it if he didn’t watch out. ‘Maybe we should draw a breath?’

She sat back with a little moue of disappointment, followed by one of those delicious tip-of-the-tongue lip-checks that drove him wild. He was very tempted to throw caution to the winds, and her to the floor, and have his wicked way with the siren. Then he saw Simon’s glass of sparkling water sitting forlornly on the table and remembered his unspoken promise. Forced himself to sit back. He’d be better having a cold glass of water himself.

‘I’m starving!’ He wasn’t, but appealing to a woman’s need to feed a man was always a good ploy to slow the world down.

She shrugged and he wanted to laugh out loud. Still a princess. Gloriously a princess. ‘Kitchen’s through there.’ A languid hand in vague direction. ‘I’m not much of a cook but you could make yourself something.’

Observed her eyes skid away from his. Decided she was lying. ‘Don’t you know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?’

‘And the way to a woman’s heart is more of that hello kissing.’ She sighed and stood up. ‘But come on, I’ll feed you. And then I’m going to kiss you again before my brother comes home. You’ll owe me.’

He did laugh at that. ‘I’ll pay what I have to pay.’ And he thought, I am not sleeping with this woman but thank God I brought condoms.

* * *

Maeve had lied about not being able to cook. She’d done French, Italian and Spanish culinary courses, could make anything out of nothing, and Simon’s fridge was definitely not made up of nothing. ‘Spanish omelette, French salad and garlic pizza bread?’

‘Hold the garlic pizza bread.’

She grinned at him, starting to come down from the deluge of sensations that had saturated her brain. She’d planned on being admired, building her self-esteem with a safe yet sexy target, not ending up in bed with the guy. ‘Good choice.’ Heard the words and decided they applied to herself as well. It would be a good choice not to end up in bed either.

Then set about achieving a beautifully presented light meal perfect for a world traveller just off a plane.

‘Oh, my.’ He glanced down at his plate in awe. ‘She cooks well.’

‘Only when I feel like it.’ And spun away, but he caught her wrist. Lifted it to his mouth and kissed the delicate inside skin once, twice, three times, and Maeve thought she was going to swoon. She tugged her hand free because she needed to think and she hadn’t stopped feeling since she’d seen this man. She mimicked him. ‘He kisses well.’

He winked at her. ‘Only when he feels like it.’

She leaned into him. ‘We’ll work on that. Eat your dinner like a good boy.’ While I get some distance, fan my face and figure out why I’m acting like he’s my chance at salvation. Or is that damnation?