The Christmas Baby Bonus

“A t-t-tree came d-d-down on the driveway,” she managed through chattering teeth.

“You’re going to have to get out of these wet clothes before you get hypothermic,” he said.

“T-too late,” she said with a wry grin. “I think I’m already th-there.”

“Come on,” he said leading the way to a downstairs bathroom. “Get in a hot shower and I’ll get you something dry to put on. Where’s your suitcase?”

“St-still in the b-b-back of the SUV,” she said through lips tinged with blue.

“And the SUV?”

“It’s stuck against the tree that came down across the drive about halfway down.”

“Are you hurt anywhere other than your face?”

“A f-few bruises, maybe, b-but mostly just c-cold.”

No wonder she looked so shocky. A crash and then walking back up the drive in this weather? It was a miracle she’d made it.

“Let’s get you out of these wet things.”

He reached for her jacket and tugged the zipper down. Chilled fingers closed around his hands.

“I-I can m-manage,” she said weakly.

“You can barely speak,” he answered firmly, brushing her hands away and tugging the jacket off her. “I’ll help you get out of your clothes, that’s all. Okay?”

Faye nodded, her hair dripping. Beneath her jacket, Faye’s fine wool sweater was also soaked through and her nipples peaked against the fabric through her bra. He bent to undo the laces on her sneakers and yanked them off, then peeled away her wet socks. She had pretty feet, even though they were currently blue with cold and, to his surprise, she had tiny daisies painted on each of her big toes. Cute and whimsical, he thought, and nothing like the automaton he was used to in the office. Near her ankle he caught sight of some scar tissue that appeared to be snaking out from beneath her sodden jeans.

“We’ve got two options,” Piers said as he reached for the button fly of her jeans. “The best way to warm you up is skin-to-skin contact, or a nice hot shower.”

“S-shower,” Faye said emphatically.

Piers smiled a little. So, she wasn’t so far gone she couldn’t make a decision. For that he could be thankful, even if the prospect of skin-to-skin contact with her held greater appeal than it ought to. At least the under-floor heating would help to restore some warmth to her frigid feet. He peeled the wet denim down her legs. He always knew she was slightly built but there was lean muscle there, too. As if she did distance running or something like that.

He’d always been a leg man and a twitch in his groin inconveniently reminded him of that fact. Now wasn’t the time for those kinds of thoughts, he reminded himself firmly. But then he noticed her lower legs and the ropey scar tissue. Faye’s hands had been on his shoulder, to help her keep her balance as he removed her jeans. Her fingers tightened against his muscles when he exposed her damaged skin.

“I can take it from h-here,” she said, her voice still shaking with the effect of the cold.

“No, don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he insisted and finished pulling her jeans off for her.

No wonder she always wore trousers in the office. Those were some serious scars and she was obviously self-conscious about them. Still, they were the least of their worries right now. First priority was getting her warm again.

“Okay.” He stepped away. “Can you manage the sweater and your underwear on your own? I’ll get the shower running.”

Faye nodded and began to pull her sweater up and over her head. For all that she lived in Los Angeles, she had the fairest skin of anyone he’d ever seen. And were those freckles scattering down her chest and over the swell of her perfect breasts? Suddenly disgusted with himself for sneaking a peek, Piers snapped his attention back to his task before she caught him staring, but he knew he’d never be able to see her in her usual buttoned-up office wear without seeing those freckles in the back of his mind.

The bathroom soon began to fill with steam and he turned to see Faye had wrapped a towel around herself, protecting her modesty. Even so, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the vision of her as she’d pulled her sweater off. Of the slenderness of her hips and thighs and how very tiny her waist was. Of the scar across her abdomen that had told of a major surgery at some time. Of that intriguing dusting of freckles that invited closer exploration—

No, stop it! he castigated himself. She’s your PA, not your plaything.

“Shower’s all ready. Stay in there as long as you need. I’ll be back with some clothes, then I’ll warm up something to eat.”

For a second he considered trekking down the drive to retrieve her suitcase, but that wasn’t a practical consideration with both her and the baby needing his supervision. Which left him with the task of finding her something out of his wardrobe. An imp of mischief tugged his lips into a grin. Oh, yes, he knew exactly what he’d get her.

* * *

“You can’t be serious!” Faye exclaimed as she came through the bathroom door. “Surely you could have found me something better than this to wear!”

Now that she was warm again she was well and truly back to her usual self.

Piers fought the urge to laugh out loud. She was swamped in the Christmas sweater he’d chosen for her out of his collection and the track pants ballooned around her slender legs. At least the knitted socks he favored while he stayed here didn’t look too ridiculous, even if the heel part was probably up around her ankles. It was a relief to see her with some natural color back in her cheeks, though.

“You needed something warm.” He shrugged. “I didn’t have time to be picky. Besides, you look adorable.”

Faye snorted. “I don’t do adorable.”

“Not normally, no,” he agreed amicably. “But you have to admit you’re warmer in those clothes than you would be in your own.”

“Speaking of my own... Where are they?”

“In the dryer—except for your coat, which is hanging up in the mudroom.”

Faye nodded in approval and looked around. “What have you done with the baby?”

As if on cue, a squawk arose from the sofa. A squawk that soon rose to a high-pitched scream that was enough to raise the hairs on the back of Piers’s neck. He groaned inwardly. One problem solved and another just popped right back up. It was like playing Whac-A-Mole except a whole lot less satisfying.

“Well, aren’t you going to do something?” Faye asked with a pained expression on her face.

“I was going to get you something to eat. Perhaps you could see to Casey.”

“That’s his name?”

Piers winced as the baby screamed again and he rushed over to the sofa to pick him up. The little tyke’s knees were pulled up against his chest and his fists flailed angrily in the air. For a wee thing, he sure had bushels full of temper.

“According to the note, yes.” He held the baby up against him, but Casey wouldn’t be consoled. “What do I do now?”

“Why would you expect me to know?” his currently very unhelpful PA responded.

“Because...” His voice trailed off. He’d been about to say “because you’re a woman,” but saved himself in time. It was an unfair assumption to make. “Because you seem to know everything else,” he hastily blurted.

“You deal with him. I’ll go find us something to eat.”

“Faye, please. What should I do?” he implored, jiggling Casey up and down and swaying on the spot. All things he’d seen other people do with babies with far greater success than he was currently experiencing. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the child was in pain, but how could that be so?

Faye gestured to the empty bottle he’d left on the coffee table. “Did you burp him after you fed him?”

“Burp him?”