Playboys' Christmas Surprises: A Christmas Baby Surprise

She wanted to trust him.

But something deep inside her, something beyond memory and born of instinct, held her back.

* * *

Luckily for him, his mother had been settling into her suite when he and Alaina brought Thomas into the house. His wife was in the nursery with their son now, which would give him a chance to talk to his mother alone first in his study. She needed to understand that he would toss her out on Christmas Day itself if she did one thing to upset this chance he had to win back his wife and keep his family intact.

He paced restlessly, his eyes drawn to the brass clock on his desk. What the hell was taking his mother so long? This wasn’t the best of times for unexpected company, damn it.

Wooing Alaina back into his life and into his bed was going to be tough enough without having his mother throw verbal land mines into the mix with no warning. Courtney Rutger was a shark in the courtroom and in life. Their relationship had been strained since he’d walked out at eighteen and put himself through college working construction rather than take her money.

There were too many strings attached to his mother’s gifts. The extravagant presents had clearly made Alaina uncomfortable given her less affluent upbringing and he couldn’t blame her. Still, he’d never been quite sure how to navigate the tense waters between his mother and wife.

Finally, she glided into his study in a swirl of expensive perfume and one of her favored fitted Chanel suits. She leaned toward him for an air kiss on the cheek. “Porter.”

He complied, as expected, wondering if she’d ever carried him around the way Alaina cradled Thomas. Making real contact, rather than an air kiss or half hug.

“Mom,” he answered, angling away and leaning against his desk. “Why are you here?”

“To celebrate Christmas, and to help you with your new baby and your wife.”

Help now? He wasn’t buying it. His mother had visited only on holidays during his marriage, and she hadn’t done more than come to the hospital the day after the accident. She’d seen her grandson, brought some gifts and flowers and left. She sure as hell hadn’t cooed over her grandchild, much less snapped photos on her cell phone to share with her pals. “You’ve never been interested in babies before.”

“I’ve never been a grandmother before.”

“Mother...” He raised an eyebrow impatiently.

“Son,” she answered with overplayed innocence.

“Is that what you’re about? I’m your son. I know you. And you’re not going to cause mother-in-law troubles.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, Mother, please. You’ve made it clear for years that you don’t like Alaina.” The friction between his wife and mother, which had grown over time, had added pressure to an already strained marriage. “She’s working to regain her memory and the last thing she needs is you tossing in digs or telling her things she’s not ready to hear. She needs to be kept calm and happy while she recovers. She should remember the happy times first.”

His gaze gravitated to the framed reproduction of a map of the Florida East Coast Railway from the Flagler Museum, an anniversary gift from Alaina two years ago. She’d respected his work, complimented him on being an artist in his own right through his construction company. She’d bought the gift in commemoration of another Florida builder/entrepreneur from the past.

Some people went on cruises for vacation. He and Alaina had spent their time off touring historic sites and discussing the architectural history of the buildings.

There had been good times between them... God, he missed what they’d once had.

And now he had a second chance. He wouldn’t let anything or anyone stand in his way of repairing his relationship with Alaina. Of building a family together. It was too important.

“Your wife is ill now. I understand that and will be nice. If you’re not ready for her to hear about the ‘bad memories,’ then okay. I’m here for all three of you.” Courtney clicked her manicured nails. “I do have a heart.”

She placed her hand dramatically on her chest, and gave a picture-perfect smile. It was with just such finesse that Courtney Rutger won over jury after jury—if not her son.

His mouth twitched with a smile. “That’s questionable.”

“And you’re just like me.” She winked. “Makes a mother proud.”

He shook his head. “You’re something else.”

“That’s one way to put it.” She clapped her hands together. “Now where’s my grandson?”

“He’s getting his diaper changed.”

Frowning, she smoothed back her French twist, her dark hair showing only a few threads of gray. “Then I’ll wait a couple of minutes until he’s through with that.” She hesitated, shrugging. “What? I like to watch babies nap.”

“Since when?”

“Since always. They’re easier then.” She grinned unrepentantly. “Now smile. It’s the Christmas season. Your family is under one roof. And I certainly wouldn’t have wagered a chance in hell on that happening this year.”

Neither would he.

A creak of the door snapped his attention across the room. Alaina stood in the doorway frowning. Damn it. How much had she heard? Had his mother’s strategic verbal land mines already blown his second chance all to hell? Courtney might have said she intended to respect his wishes, but he wasn’t 100 percent certain she wouldn’t try to find some way to finagle her way past on a technicality.

“Alaina?” he asked, waving her inside.

She stepped deeper into the room. “Please introduce me to your mother.” She tugged a Christmas plaid burp cloth off the shoulder of her blue cotton dress that skimmed her curves. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you, ma’am, but you’re right. We’re all lucky to be here together since I very well could have still been in that hospital bed. Or not here at all.”

He exhaled hard, grateful she’d misunderstood his mother’s comment. But he couldn’t count on continued luck. He needed to make progress with his wife and get his family back. The sooner the better.

* * *

Two hours later, Alaina opened the closet in her bedroom. Hers and Porter’s.

The space was larger than her first college studio apartment.

One side was lined with rows of Porter’s clothes, suits and casual wear, each piece hung and arranged with precision, even down to sleeve length. She walked along the row, her fingers trailing the different textures. She could almost imagine the cloth still carried the heat of the man who wore them.

A half wall sectioned the male and female side of the “closet.” Shoes fit into nooks, purses, too. And somehow she knew to push the button on the end—jewelry trays slid out in staggered lengths and heights. The stones that winked at her varied from semiprecious to mind-bogglingly expensive.

Who was she now? In this life? This house with an apartment-sized closet?

Even that thought gave her pause, reminding her that she hadn’t grown up with finer things like the ones in this house. How comfortable had she been living here? Had she grown jaded and used to these luxuries?

Glancing back at the elegant driftwood four-poster bed, she began to seriously consider their arrangements as they became reacquainted. He’d said he wouldn’t pressure her and she hoped he meant that. He couldn’t possibly think they would be sharing a bed. Not yet. In spite of the attraction that still simmered between them, she wasn’t ready for intimacy just now.

But someday?

She could barely envision getting through the night, much less through the next few weeks. She turned to the closet again and studied the racks of clothes and rows of shoes and purses and her clothes as if they could give her some hint about the woman she’d been in those missing five years. Certainly one who enjoyed shopping and bright patterns. Grasping at the clothes, she enjoyed the cool feel of the silks and satins. This closet was luxurious—the kind women might fantasize about. Alaina half hoped one of these garments would stir a memory, and the past five years of her life would come rushing back to her.

No such luck.

She released a floor-length gown with a jeweled bodice and glanced down at the simple cotton dress she wore, so different from the rest of her clothes. Had Porter packed this for a reason or had he simply grabbed the first item his hands fell on?

The cotton dress didn’t feel like the artsy sense of herself she remembered from five years ago. In fact, the house didn’t much reflect her, either. Where was her love of Renaissance art? There were no paintings or statues she would have chosen. Everything was generic, decorator style, matching sets. Had she really spent time here? Been happy?