Their Meant-To-Be Baby

* * *

‘We need to talk.’

There was a lull in the chaos that had been the day so far, and they were alone at the desk, filling in paperwork on the last case. He paused, his pen hovering over the notes.

‘We do?’

He was still stinging a little from her rejection back in January, not to mention her denial to James that she knew him, and he’d spent the whole morning so far trying to quell his traitorous body, which seemed to be delighted at her sudden reappearance in his life. In fact she’d been at least half of the reason he’d taken this locum job, on the off-chance that he might run into her again, but now he had it seemed like a profoundly lousy idea, especially since they were going to be working together.

He made himself look at her, forced himself to meet her eyes instead of avoiding them as he had been.

‘I wouldn’t have thought we had anything to say.’

She flinched a little, but held her ground.

‘There’s a lot to say.’

‘Like why you didn’t answer my text?’

He saw her throat bob as she swallowed. ‘I didn’t get it—not until much later.’

‘That’s a lie. I saw it on your phone when I sent it so I know it arrived.’

‘But I didn’t see it on my phone. I didn’t have time to check until I got home—I was called in to work that morning.’

‘Sure you were.’

‘Why do you have to think the worst of me? I’m not lying, and it’s on record.’ She bit her lip, but her eyes looked troubled, and she gave a frustrated little sigh. ‘Look, Sam, I don’t want to do this here. Can we meet up later? Please?’

He propped himself against the desk, hands rammed in the pockets of his scrubs so he didn’t reach out to her, and studied her, trying and failing to read her expression. ‘OK,’ he conceded finally, massively against his better judgement—although where Kate was concerned he didn’t seem to have any judgement. ‘What time do you finish?’

‘Three. You?’

‘Technically five, but maybe later. We could go to a pub, I suppose,’ he offered grudgingly, but she shook her head.

‘No, not a pub. Where are you staying?’

‘With James and Connie, but there’s no way you’re going there.’

She frowned. ‘No, definitely not.’

‘Where, then?’

She bit her lip again and he felt almost sorry for it. ‘My flat?’ she offered, sounding as reluctant as him. ‘You could come round when you finish. Six o’clock-ish?’

He nodded, relieved that they were going somewhere private. ‘OK. Give me the address. Oh, and you’d better give me your phone number again in case I’m held up.’

She nodded, and he couldn’t help noticing that she looked wary. Almost—hunted?

‘Kate, I get that it was a one-night stand,’ he muttered, relenting a little. ‘I’m cool with that, and I didn’t want any more. I don’t,’ he added, feeling a twinge of guilt at the lie. ‘But you could have answered my text.’

‘And said what? Thanks for a great night, sorry I missed the chance to say goodbye when you sneaked out of the hotel room?’

‘I hardly sneaked—’

‘You could have woken me up. You could have just asked me—’ She broke off and gave another impatient little sigh and pulled the phone out of her pocket. ‘Tell me your number.’

She keyed it in, and his phone vibrated in his pocket. ‘OK, I’ve got it,’ he said, and put it into his contacts. ‘I’ll call you when I finish, give you a head’s up.’

‘I’ll text you my address. It’s the top-floor flat. Number three.’

She hesitated a moment, then turned away, leaving him puzzled and a tiny bit intrigued.

She probably wanted to set the ground rules for their relationship, he decided.

Well, that was easy. Hands off. He could do that.

He went back to work.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_81ac57b6-b67b-501a-87bc-7b001479a2ae)

SHE STOOD AT the bedroom window and watched a car pull up outside the house right on the dot of six, and she ran downstairs and opened the front door.

‘You found me OK, then?’ she said, stating the obvious, but he just gave her a quizzical smile.

‘It’s hardly rocket science. I’ve got a satnav.’

Of course he had. Her stomach in knots, she turned away without another word and led him up the narrow, winding staircase that rose to the top floor of the big Victorian townhouse. Once upon a time it had been elegant. Now it had a run-down feel to it, as if it had been a long time since anyone had truly loved it, and she wondered what Sam with his privileged upbringing would think of it. Not that it mattered.

She’d left the door at the top standing open, and he followed her in, past the cramped kitchen into the sitting room that seemed suddenly much smaller with him in it. It was shabby without the chic, but thanks to the last two hours of frantic activity it was at least clean and tidy, apart from the shelves in the alcoves, which were overflowing with books.

‘Drink?’ she asked, stalling for time, and he nodded.

‘Yeah, thanks—I could murder a coffee.’

No chance. She waved at the sofa. ‘Make yourself at home. The kettle’s hot, I won’t be a moment.’

She closed the kitchen door, sucked in a deep breath and tried to steady herself, to slow the heart that was lodged in her throat.

‘You can do this,’ she whispered, but she didn’t know how, didn’t know if she would ever be ready to say the words that would change their lives for ever.

* * *

He looked around, trying to get a handle on her character, but there was nothing to give her away.

No ornaments or photos, the tired furniture showing evidence of a long, hard life, but at least it was clean.

He studied the books, but all they proved was that she had eclectic taste.