Free Christmas-Eve Baby by Caroline Anderson Page A

arms and he was carrying her up the stairs, laughing and protesting that he’d put his back out if he wasn’t careful. Once he’d put her down on the edge of the bed he sat beside her and stroked the hair back from her face.
    ‘Do you want a T-shirt to sleep in?’ he asked, knowing she’d be shy, and she nodded. He pulled a long one out of his drawer and handed it to her. ‘There’s a new toothbrush and some toothpaste and clean towels and stuff in the bathroom. You go first,’ he said, and shooed her in that direction, then turned back the quilt, stripped off his clothes, went into the en suite shower room and cleaned his teeth, then ran downstairs and brought up the tealight holder from the dining table and lit the candles.
    He turned out the light, contemplated stripping off his jersey boxers and thought better of it, then got into bed.
    He heard the loo flush, the water running, the door open,the light click off, and then she was there, hovering in the doorway, her face troubled in the candlelight. He held his arm out to her in invitation.
    ‘Come and have a cuddle,’ he said gently, and after another moment’s hesitation she slipped into bed beside him.
    ‘Oh! It’s chilly,’ she murmured, and he tucked her up against him so that the firm bulge of her tummy was snuggled against his abdomen and her legs were tangled with his, and gradually, as all he did was hold her, he felt the tension ease out of her and her body relaxed against him.
    God, it felt good to have her in his arms. He could feel the baby kicking, and he wondered how on earth she could rest while it fidgeted about like that. Then he got to wondering whether it was a boy or a girl, and if he cared, and he decided he didn’t, just so long as everything was all right.
    And then he heard a soft snore, and with a wry chuckle he shifted slightly so her head was on his shoulder and not his arm. Tucking the quilt around her shoulders to keep out the draughts, he closed his eyes and lay there and thought about the future.
    He didn’t know what it would bring, but one thing he was sure of—he and Lucy would be together, with their child, come hell or high water.
     
    It was still dark when she woke up.
    Dark, and warm, and deep inside her pillow she could hear a heart beating. Hers?
    She shifted her legs, and found they wouldn’t move because they were tangled in—legs? Hard, muscular legs, hairy legs, long and lean and definitively masculine.
    And her arm was draped across a lean, firm abdomen, her hand resting on a deep chest that rose and fell steadily.
    Ben. Safe and solid and apparently not in the least interested in her if last night was anything to go by.
    She lifted her head a fraction and tried to ease away, but the arm around her back tightened and eased her back again. ‘Don’t go.’
    ‘I need the loo,’ she said, and he sighed and released her.
    The candles had gone out, and she couldn’t see where she was going. She heard the bed creak, felt the mattress shift, and the bedside light came on. ‘OK?’
    ‘Fine. Thanks.’
    ‘Want a drink?’
    ‘Oh. Water?’
    ‘Want tea? It’s nearly six. I have to get up soon.’
    ‘Tea would be great,’ she said, and then hurried to the bathroom as the baby shifted against her bladder and reminded her of why she’d woken up. And she sat there on the loo, looking down at this huge blimp that was her body now, and thought, He didn’t want me. He just held me all night, and he didn’t want me—not once he’d seen me like a beached whale in a T-shirt.
    And she felt a stupid, stupid urge to cry. After all, she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him, hadn’t wanted him to initiate anything, and she’d been really tired.
    Now, though, she was perversely disappointed, and she flushed the loo and had a quick wash and cleaned her teeth and wondered if she had time to get dressed again before he got back to the bedroom with the tea.
    The answer was no. He was in bed, a mug on each bedside table,