Their Meant-To-Be Baby

He drew away, lifting his head from hers, searching her face for clues as his heart pounded and his chest rose and fell with every ragged breath, but it was too dark to read her eyes. He could hear the hitch of her breath, though, feel the quiver in it as she exhaled and her breath drifted over his skin in tiny pulses.

‘Stay with me tonight,’ he said on impulse, and she hesitated for so long he felt the sinking disappointment in his gut; but then she smiled, a wry, sad smile as she lost some internal battle and nodded.

‘Your place or mine?’ she murmured, and his body gave itself a high five.

* * *

They went to his hotel.

Neutral territory? Tidier than her flat, for sure, and she wasn’t ready yet to give that much of herself away. Her body was one thing. Her home—that was another. So she’d told him it was further away than it really was, which made the decision easy.

The hotel was one of those anonymous places that could have been anywhere in the world, featureless but functional, scrupulously clean, the room dominated by the bed with its white striped bedding tucked tautly round the mattress.

It was hardly romantic, but it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was them, alone together and driven by a need that had come out of nowhere and wouldn’t be denied.

Their clothes hit the floor—jackets, her scarf, his sweater dragged off over his head so that his chest was right in front of her eyes and jammed her breath to a halt in her throat.

She reached out to touch it, her fingertips tracing the outline of taut, firm muscles that jerked at her touch. His hand caught her chin, gentle fingers tilting her face up to his, and he stared down into her eyes for a long moment before he stepped back out of reach.

‘Undress for me.’

His voice was gruff, a muscle twitching in his jaw, and his eyes held hers, fire and ice dancing in their depths. Her heart was trying to climb out of her chest, jamming her breath, but she sucked air in somehow, coming out of her trance as the oxygen reached her brain and reality hit.

He thought she was a glamour model. How could she do this? Undress for him as if she had all the confidence of a woman who earned her living with her body? She couldn’t even remember what underwear she’d flung on after her shower!

Matching? Probably not. The bra was hot pink, she knew that, because the lace was scratchy, and if she had that bra on, it was because she was getting to the bottom of her underwear drawer. Which didn’t bode well for the knickers.

She peeled off her top, and his breath hissed in between his teeth. His hand moved as if to reach for her, and then stopped, hauled back into his pocket beside a tell-tale bulge that made her body weep and her legs turn to mush.

She sat down on the bed and unzipped her boots, tugging them off and then standing up again to slide down the zip on her jeans and wiggle them over her hips, catching a reassuring glimpse of her knickers. Navy lace shorts edged with pink ribbon, so sort of matching. It could have been a lot worse.

Easing her breath out slowly on a silent sigh of relief, she slid the jeans down, but they clung to her legs and there was no sexy way to get them off.

‘Here. Let me.’

He crouched in front of her, the fabric bunched in his hands as he pushed the jeans down her legs, lifting her feet in turn to strip them away. His breath was hot, drifting over her legs, the tender skin of her thighs, seeping through the lace fabric just a hand’s breadth from his mouth. His hands slid round and cupped her bottom, holding her still as he closed the gap, breathing out, the hot rush going straight to her core.

‘There goes that fantasy,’ he murmured, and her ego quailed.

‘What fantasy?’ she asked, just so she could flagellate herself with it in the future, but he laughed softly.

‘Red shoes—’

‘—no pants,’ she finished, and felt her breath ease out in a sigh of relief.

‘I’m sure we can fix that,’ he said, his voice a low rasp, but she put her hand out to stop him as he reached for them.

‘Your turn,’ she said, stalling for time, and he smiled wickedly and dumped his wallet and keys and phone on the bedside table before he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks and shucked his jeans, kicking them away to land in a heap with hers.

There was nothing unusual or remarkable about his snug jersey shorts, but the contents...

‘Keep going,’ she ordered, and he quirked a brow and peeled them slowly down, letting them drop to the floor as he stood there bold and unselfconscious and gloriously naked.

How wonderful to be so sure of yourself, she thought as he pushed her down onto the bed and tipped her back, reaching out his hands to draw the dark blue lace with its pink ribbons slowly down over her hips, her legs, her feet...

‘Now that’s more like it,’ he said, and the searing flame of his eyes stroked her with fire.

She whimpered, clenching her knees together to stop the blaze from burning her up, but he reached out a hand, pressing her knees apart, his wicked, clever fingers replacing the stroke of his eyes as his hand slid up her thigh and found its target unerringly.

The intimacy shocked and yet excited her, the tension winding tighter and tighter in her body with every touch, and then suddenly he was gone, leaving her lying there exposed and aching, screaming for release.

‘Sam—?’

‘Two seconds.’

She heard a slight rustle, a faint tearing sound, and then he was back. A condom, she realised. Thank God one of them was thinking straight, although he didn’t need it because she was on the Pill, but she knew nothing about him—

‘Shove up,’ he muttered, and she wriggled into the middle of the bed as he followed her, peeling away her bra, his mouth taking its place, fastening over one breast and suckling hard as a hand found the other and cradled it in his warm palm.

His knee nudged hers apart and she yielded to him, her body aching for his, arching into him as she begged incoherently, her hesitation forgotten, pleading for something out of reach, something special, and so elusive.

‘Easy,’ he murmured, and then he was there, filling her, her face cradled gently in his hands as he kissed her. His mouth was hot and sweet and coaxing, his body taut and so, so clever, and the feeling inside her escalated wildly. She felt the pressure building, tried to squirm away, to stall it because suddenly to give him so much of herself seemed too great a step, making her too vulnerable to this stranger who could play her body like a violin.

He held her, though, his body claiming hers, refusing to free it, to let her escape the thing she’d yearned for and now dreaded because it would tear down her defences and leave her wide open to hurt.

‘Look at me, Kate,’ he demanded softly, and his eyes captured hers and held them, steady and sure, the flame burning bright as he drove her over the edge and crumbled all her defences into dust.

Then, and only then, did he close his eyes, drop his head against her shoulder and let himself go.

CHAPTER TWO

SAM PROPPED HIMSELF on one elbow and watched Kate sleeping, her rich toffee-coloured hair an unruly tangle, her limbs sprawled in exhaustion.

He knew how that felt.

Their mutual thirst was finally slaked, but on the way there he’d wrung every last gasp out of her, taken both of them to the limit of their endurance over and over again. It had been amazing, astonishing. Compelling beyond anything he’d ever felt before.

Guilt plagued him at that, but he pushed it away. It was only sex, nothing more. It wasn’t disloyal, because this wasn’t a relationship, just a crazy night out of nowhere. Surely to God he was allowed to have fun sometimes, to forget, just for a few hours?

A curl lay across her cheek, and he lifted it away, careful not to disturb her. Not that he thought he would. She was sleeping like the dead—

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. It was only six thirty, but the man who owned the boat was going out on the tide before nine so they’d arranged to meet at seven, but then he should be done. He could be back in town by eight, nine at the latest. Maybe she could meet him then?

Her jeans were in a heap on the floor, and her phone was lying beside them. He picked it up, and his own, went into the bathroom and called himself from her phone to get the number, then sent her a text.

Meet me for breakfast? Café by the restaurant at nine? S

He put the phones down, showered and towelled himself roughly dry, cleaned his teeth and then on the spur of the moment reloaded the new emergency toothbrush he’d found her before he pulled on his clothes and packed. He tried hard not to disturb her, but he could have slammed the door and she wouldn’t have heard she was so heavily asleep. He’d ask Reception to give her a call at eight. That would give her an hour to get ready for breakfast.

He hesitated a moment, then bent, breathing in the scent of warm skin and sex as he touched his lips to her flushed, sleep-creased cheek.

She didn’t move. Just as well. He was out of time.

He picked up his things, put her phone where she’d see it and let himself quietly out of the room.

* * *

A phone was ringing.

Kate struggled up out of the depths of sleep and registered her surroundings as she groped for the room phone. ‘Hello?’

The recorded, electronic voice was horribly cheerful. ‘This is your alarm call. The time is eight a.m.’

Alarm call? Why...?

Sam, she realised, looking round at the empty room. All his stuff was gone. He must have left for his meeting, but why hadn’t he said goodbye? After all they’d shared, he’d just left without a word?

Her brain slowly coming to, she dropped the receiver back on the cradle and slumped against the pillows.

Dammit, would she never learn?

She stumbled out of bed and opened the bottle of spring water on the hospitality tray, dragged on her clothes and shoved her phone in her pocket. She was so bone tired. She was going home for a shower and then she’d fall into bed—

Her mobile rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket and stared at it in dismay. Her ward manager, which could only mean one thing. Her finger hovered over the phone, then she gave in to the inevitable guilt and answered it reluctantly.

‘Hi, Jill.’

‘Kate, I’m so sorry, I hate to do this to you on your day off but is there any way you can come in?’

Again? Her heart sank and she plopped down onto the bed in despair. ‘Can’t you get an agency nurse? I’ve just done seven days straight—’

‘I’ve tried. Please, Kate? Jane’s called in—she’s got norovirus, too, and we’re so short-staffed we’re going to have to close the Emergency Department if we can’t get more nursing cover. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.’

She gave in. The winter vomiting bug had swept through Yoxburgh Park Hospital in the last few weeks, which was why Petra had been called in last night, and there was no point fighting the inevitable. ‘OK, I’m on my way. I just need time to shower and grab some breakfast—’

‘Quick shower. I’ll make you some toast when you get here. We really need you now.’

Oh, dammit. ‘OK, OK, I’m coming. Give me ten minutes.’

Which meant she didn’t even have time to go home and change. It could have been worse. At least she hadn’t gone out last night in a tiny dress and six-inch stilettos or she’d be doing the walk of shame.

Not that it would be the first time, she thought with a sigh, but she always kept a pair of work shoes at the hospital since the first time it had happened, and she could wear scrubs. She stripped and went back into the bathroom, and realised Sam had at least had the decency to leave her a blob of toothpaste on the new brush he’d produced for her last night out of the depths of his overnight bag. In case he ever forget to take one with him, he’d explained, proving he was way more organised than she’d ever be, but that wasn’t difficult.

She cleaned her teeth with it, grateful for the burst of freshness it offered if not for his sneaky exit, then showered fast without washing her hair, wiped away the smudge of mascara under her eyes, grabbed the biscuits and water off the hospitality tray and left.

* * *

She didn’t show.

He almost rang her, but stopped himself in time. She was bound to have seen the text. Maybe she just wasn’t interested? Although she’d seemed pretty interested last night.

He waited until ten, dragging out his third coffee to give her time, then admitted the obvious and gave up.

It was probably just as well, he told himself, and crushed the ludicrous feeling of disappointment. He got into his car and checked his phone again. Maybe she just hadn’t seen the text? But still there was nothing.

Telling himself not to be a fool, he deleted the call history and the text, threw down the phone and drove home, disappointment and regret taunting him with every mile.

* * *

It was eight that night before she finally climbed the stairs to her flat, and one glance at it made her glad they’d gone to his hotel.

Today was the day she’d set aside for cleaning it and blitzing the laundry, but that had turned out to be an epic fail. Tough. She wasn’t doing it now, she was exhausted, and it would keep. She stripped, trying not to think of the way she’d undressed for Sam last night, trying not to think of all the things he’d done to her, the things she’d done to him, the way he’d made her feel.

She’d never had a night like it in her life, and it hadn’t just been about the sex, although that had been amazing. It was him, Sam, warm and funny and gentle and clever. He’d made her feel special. He’d made her feel wanted.

Until she realised he’d just been using her.

And she couldn’t really have fallen for him. Not in—what? Nine hours?

Was that all? Just nine hours? She’d wanted it to go on for ever, but it hadn’t. Like all good things, it had come to an end all too soon, and he hadn’t even had the decency to tell her.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket to put it on charge and saw she had a message from an unknown number.

Meet me for breakfast? Café by the restaurant at nine? S

‘No-o!’ She flopped back on the bed and shut her eyes, stifling a scream of frustration. How could she not have seen it?

Because she hadn’t had time, was how. She literally hadn’t stopped, and when she had, for twenty minutes that afternoon, she’d fallen asleep in the staffroom. She should have rung him—sent him a text, at least, to let him know she’d had to work, but she hadn’t even known he’d messaged her, never mind how he’d got her number.

By ringing himself from her phone, she realised, scanning her call log.

Damn. So he hadn’t just left without trace. And all day, she’d been hating him for his cowardice.

But maybe it was as well. He didn’t live here, he’d only been visiting friends, so nothing would have come of it. She didn’t need to fall any further for a man she’d never see again. She would just have tortured herself that bit longer.

And anyway, she was sworn off men for life, remember? No more. Never again. Even if he hadn’t just done a runner.

She hesitated, then deleted the text and the call history.

There. Sorted.

Except it didn’t feel sorted. It felt wrong, leaving a hollow ache inside, but it would pass. She knew that from long and bitter experience.

Too tired to fret over it any longer, she crawled into bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

An hour later she woke to a wave of nausea, a raging headache and stomach cramps, and the depressing realisation that she had the bug that had swept through the department...

* * *

It was five days before she went back to work—days in which she lost weight, grew to hate the sight of her flat and finally tackled the laundry as she waited the statutory forty-eight hours after symptoms subsided before she was allowed to return to work.

She was straight back in at the deep end, as one by one the team were hit by the virus, but after a few challenging weeks the worst of the crisis seemed to be over. It was just as well, as she hadn’t really recovered her appetite and kept feeling light-headed and queasy. She staved off the light-headedness by eating endless chocolate, but she couldn’t do anything about her dreams.

Too much chocolate? It had never given her any problems before, but now Sam was haunting her every night.

At first she’d been too ill to think about him, and then too busy, but it clearly wasn’t as easy as all that to put him out of her mind. He was there every time she got into bed, reminding her of those few short hours she’d spent with him, making her ache with regret because she hadn’t phoned him to apologise and explain.

But she hadn’t, and she’d ditched his number, so regret was pointless and she was grateful when they were so busy that she was too tired even to dream about him.

And then, at the beginning of April, just over two months after her night with Sam, she went into Resus to restock and found Annie Shackleton slumped over the desk with her head in her hands.

She and the consultant often worked closely together on trauma cases and they’d become good friends, so right from the beginning she’d been privy to the blow-by-blow development of Annie’s pregnancy. Because of her husband Ed’s inherited Huntington’s gene she’d had IVF, so Kate had been one of the first to know the wonderful news that both embryos had taken, then that both of them were boys.

But this morning Annie had gone for a routine antenatal check, and now Kate knew something was wrong.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ she asked softly, and Annie looked at her, her eyes red-rimmed and tight with strain.

‘I’ve got pre-eclampsia,’ she said, her voice uneven, and Kate tutted softly and crouched down beside her.

‘Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry, that’s such tough luck. What are they doing about it?’

‘I’ve got to stop work. Like—now.’

‘Well, of course you have, but you’ll be fine! You just need to rest. Are they going to admit you?’

‘Not immediately, but it’s going to be so hard to take it easy. Who’s going to look after the girls? I can’t expect my poor mother to do any more, she’s been helping me since the girls were born because I was on my own, but I only work three days a week. This’ll be all day, every day, because it’s the Easter holidays—and because it’s the holidays Ed can’t take any time off, either, because of the staff with their own children to think about. The timing just couldn’t be worse—’

Her voice cracked, and Kate reached out and hugged her.

‘Annie, your mum will be fine with it. She’s lovely, she adores the girls and they’re no trouble. They’ll be falling over themselves to look after you, and Ed’ll be around to get them up and put them to bed, and you know he thinks of them as his own and they love him to bits. It’ll be OK, Annie. Really. You and the babies have to come first and the rest will sort itself out.’

Annie nodded slowly. ‘I know that, I know it’ll be fine, but it’s not just Mum and the girls I’m worried about. I’ll be leaving the department in the lurch. Andy Gallagher’s on holiday next week with his kids, and I have no idea how they’re going to get a consultant-grade locum at such short notice—I was going to work till I was thirty-six weeks, and I’m only thirty-two.’

‘So? They’ll find someone. It’s not your problem, Annie. It’s James Slater’s problem. He’s the clinical lead, let him sort it out, and you look after yourself and the babies. Have you told him yet?’

She pushed herself to her feet. ‘No, but I have to. You’re right, the locum’s not my problem—and even if it was, I don’t have a choice. I’ll go and tell him.’

‘You do that. And go straight home, OK? I’ll sort your locker out.’ Kate straightened up, hugged her again and then watched her go, a lump in her throat. She loved working with Annie, and she’d miss her warmth and gentle humour. Not that the other doctors were difficult to work with, but—well, Annie had been a good friend to her, and it wouldn’t feel the same without her, and she had a horrible feeling she wouldn’t be coming back.

And she was being selfish. It wasn’t about her.

She’d just finished restocking the drugs cupboard when James put his head round the corner. ‘Annie’s going home.’

‘I know. She’s worried about leaving you in the lurch.’

‘Tough. She hasn’t got a choice, and we’ll cope. I’ll cover it if necessary. She said something about you clearing out her locker for her. Can you put the things in my office, please, and I’ll drop them off at their house on my way past tonight.’

‘Will you be able to get a locum?’

He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Maybe. Connie’s got a friend who seems to be kicking his heels at the moment, so he might agree. I’ll get her to ring him and twist his arm. It might also mean he gets his blasted boat off our drive while he’s here. Why he bought it I can’t imagine, but hey. Who am I to judge? I just want it gone so we can get the house sold before the new baby comes.’

But Kate had stopped listening at the word ‘boat’. Coincidence? Sam had gone to look at a boat. And his friends had gone to a party, on the same night that James and Connie had been at Zacharelli’s for a fortieth. The same party?

But Sam wasn’t a doctor—was he? He hadn’t exactly said what he did for a living, apart from mentioning unmeetable targets—and they were the bane of most doctors’ lives...

‘How long’s it been there?’ she asked casually, her heart pounding.

‘Oh, I don’t know, a couple of months? It seems like for ever. Right, got to get on. Don’t forget Annie’s locker.’

‘I’ll do it now.’

Two months? That fitted. So was Sam a doctor? And if so, how would he feel about working alongside her?

Her heart gave a little kick of excitement as she headed for the staffroom and emptied Annie’s possessions into a cardboard box.

Would they pick up where they’d left off?

She tapped on James’s door and he beckoned her in, pointing to the phone in his hand and mouthing, ‘Thank you.’ She put the box on his desk as he ended the call and spun the chair towards her, grinning cheerfully.

‘Job done. My sweet-talking wife just strong-armed him, and we have an amazingly well-qualified consultant trauma surgeon starting on Monday.’ He tipped his head on one side and studied her thoughtfully. ‘Just a word of warning, though, Kate. He’s emotionally broken, so don’t let his charisma reel you in. You’ll just be setting yourself up for a fall.’

The word ‘again’ hung unspoken in the air between them, and she stifled the sigh. ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said with a forced smile, and just hoped to goodness it wasn’t Sam because if it was, the warning might have come too late to save her.

* * *

She was off the next day, and she popped round to Ed and Annie’s house on the cliff to see how Annie was doing.

‘She’s fine, before you ask,’ Ed told her with a smile as he let her in. ‘I’m pampering her to death. She hates it.’

‘I bet she doesn’t really. I brought her flowers to cheer her up.’

‘Thank you. She’ll love them. She’s out in the garden with the girls because it’s such a gorgeous day. Go on out. I was just making us coffee. How do you like it?’

‘Can I have tea?’ she said. ‘White, no sugar?’

‘Sure. We’ve got cake as well. I’ll bring it out.’

She found Annie on a lushly padded swing seat under a canopy, her feet up and the girls chasing each other round the garden. Annie waved at her, and she went over and gave her a hug and handed her the flowers.

‘Oh, how gorgeous, you sweetheart! They’re so pretty. Thank you. I’ll get Ed to put them in water. It’ll give him something to do apart from clucking round me like a mother hen.’

She pulled her legs up out of the way to make room, and Kate sat down and settled Annie’s swollen feet onto her lap.