A Baby in His In-Tray Page 5

  From ten o’clock last night through to now—almost two-thirty in the morning—Jemima had slept in odd twenty-to thirty-minute increments, only to wake again screaming. It seemed he couldn’t do any damn thing right, at least not according to Jemima. He’d bounced, dandled, crooned, rocked, played teddy bears and choo-choo trains. He’d changed her and tried giving her a bottle—none of it had worked. She’d continue to cry through all his efforts, making him feel like a low-down loser. The only thing that made her stop crying was being in her new acting nanny’s arms.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t give me a harder time when I rocked up on your doorstep yesterday.’

  She turned that amber gaze on him and raised an eyebrow. ‘I thought I did give you a hard time.’

  That made him laugh. She was a rank amateur compared to his parents. Compared to Rhoda.

  All mirth fled at that thought.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t shove her at me and push us both out of the door.’

  ‘Do you hear what the big, bad man is saying?’ she crooned down at Jemima. He wondered where she found the energy for that smile. ‘As if I’d do that.’

  The baby stared up at her intently, working noisily on her dummy.

  ‘You know, Seb, you ought to go to bed. There’s no point in the both of us losing a good night’s sleep.’

  Not a chance. He wasn’t leaving her to deal with this on her own again. Woman and child were ensconced on the sofa in the baby’s room. He sat on the floor, resting back against it. He was hoping Eliza and the baby would drop off to sleep and then he’d watch over them—make sure the baby didn’t roll off her lap or anything like that. At least then he’d feel as if he was pulling his weight.

  He rubbed his nape. ‘Do you think she’s teething?’

  ‘Babies don’t usually start teething until they’re six months. Her cheeks aren’t pink and she’s not rubbing at her mouth or pulling on her ears.’

  ‘Then why...?’ If he could find out what it was that was making Jemima cry, he’d set about fixing it. ‘Should I call a doctor?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s anything physical—especially when she’s so cheerful during the day. I mean, she’s not hungry. Her nappy doesn’t need changing. She doesn’t have a temperature. And she stops crying whenever I pick her up.’

  ‘So...comfort?’

  She huffed out a long breath. ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Then why won’t she accept comfort from me?’ It was unfair that Eliza had to bear the brunt of this.

  ‘I suspect she will in a few days. Once she’s more used to you. I suspect she’s more familiar with women—or, at least, a woman—than men.’

  He supposed that made sense.

  Golden eyes met his. ‘But I don’t want to keep doing this. Sleepless nights are the pits.’

  He couldn’t blame her. But he wasn’t sure how to help.

  ‘I need a pram.’

  He sat up a bit straighter. ‘I told you to buy whatever you needed.’ He winced at the glare she sent him. He probably deserved it. ‘I’ll organise one first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You have a plan?’

  She gave a hard nod. ‘Jemima and I are going to spend a huge portion of tomorrow in the park...in the sunshine. I seem to recall that sunshine helps to regulate one’s sleeping patterns.’ Her brow crinkled again. ‘Or is that an old wives’ tale?’

  For a moment she looked so disconsolate that all he wanted to do was buck up her spirits. ‘It’s not an old wives’ tale. It’s got something to do with melatonin.’

  She stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language.

  ‘Daylight helps regulate one’s body clock and melatonin is a hormone that makes us sleep well. They’re related somehow. It has to do with our circadian rhythms.’ He couldn’t remember exactly how it all fitted together. ‘I know because it’s good for getting over jet lag too.’ He made himself sound as confident and certain as he could—she looked in need of some certainty.

  ‘Right. Good. It’s spring. There’s no better time for flooding this little body with as much natural daylight as I can than first thing in the morning. And I’m going to try and keep her awake as much as I reasonably can tomorrow—not let her sleep as much through the day as she has been.’

  He lifted both hands and crossed his fingers.

  ‘Which means she’s going to be seriously grizzly come tomorrow evening.’

  ‘I’ll be here to help out.’

  She shook her head. ‘You need to focus on finding her mother. What’s your plan?’

  He shuffled upright a little more. ‘I’ve thought about this from every angle.’ He’d thought of little else...other than the dark circles under Eliza’s eyes. ‘I’m going to hire a private investigator. I know somebody discreet. He can start searching hospital records or the Department of Births, Deaths and Marriages for babies born in the last three to five months with the name Jemima.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you know how many babies are born in the Greater London area alone in a single day?’

  He had no idea but her expression told him it was a lot. ‘I have to start somewhere. Do you have a better plan?’

  She looked as if she might say something, but she readjusted the baby in her arms instead. ‘No,’ she sighed.

  ‘And I need to make a phone call.’ He didn’t want to ring Rhoda, but he had to. He couldn’t hide from that fact any longer.

  He pulled the phone from his pocket, but before he could bring up his list of contacts a hand fell on his shoulder. ‘You can’t call anyone at this time of night!’

  He stared at the clock before shaking his head, trying to clear the mist that had him in its grip. ‘No. I can’t. What on earth am I thinking?’

  A giggle shot out of her. ‘If sunlight is good for jet lag then you might want to make a point of getting a good dose of the stuff tomorrow too.’

  And then they were suddenly both laughing—hearty, break-the-tension laughter. Jemima spat her dummy out and laughed too. A sense of well-being he had no right to feeling flooded every cell of his body, making him feel lighter and more buoyant.

  When their laughter eased to hiccups he flicked a glance at the clock. ‘It was about this time in Australia when you phoned to inform me of the emergency.’ His lips twitched upwards, and a low laugh left him. ‘The tone of your voice! I’ll never forget it.’

  ‘I was...nonplussed.’

  ‘You were riled.’

  ‘Panicked,’ she countered. ‘I mean, who just leaves a baby on a stranger’s desk? I...’ She shook her head and then bit a hangnail. ‘My sister has just found out that she’s pregnant, you see, so babies have been on my mind lately.’

  He turned to face her more fully. ‘You have a sister?’

  * * *

  Watch your mouth! She needed to guard her tongue during these cosy ‘wee hours of the morning’ sessions. ‘Yes.’ It was pointless saying otherwise now.

  He surveyed her with those grey eyes.

  Despite the intermittently screaming baby, the atmosphere was remarkably easy, almost relaxed.

  She frowned. Was that a good thing?

  ‘Is your sister happy about the baby?’

  Liv’s heart clenched. ‘She’s terrified.’ She had no idea what Liz was going to do. But she sincerely hoped it wasn’t something her sister would come to regret.

  ‘Why?’

  She stared down at the baby in her arms. ‘It wasn’t planned. She had a fling with a mystery man.’ Which was so out of character for Liz it still made Liv’s head spin. Not that she begrudged her sister a little fun, for letting her hair down for once and living a little. Liz deserved to be happy. Except an unplanned pregnancy was a big thing. Single motherhood was a big thing. It was inordinately difficult—emotio
nally and financially—for a woman to raise a child on her own. And she wasn’t sure Liz had any intention of doing so. Which begged the question—what on earth was Liz going to do?

  Her stomach churned every time she thought about it.

  ‘A mystery man?’

  She recalled the dreamy look on Liz’s face when she’d described him and couldn’t help but smile. ‘A tall, dark and handsome stranger, apparently. Their eyes met across a crowded room. You know the drill.’

  ‘How old is your sister?’

  Liv stiffened at the implicit criticism. ‘Old enough not to deserve the condemnation in your voice!’ She glared at him. ‘Why is it OK for men to have flings and not women? She’s not in a relationship with anyone. She works hard and meets her daily responsibilities. She wasn’t hurting anyone.’

  He dragged a hand down his face. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

  He stared at the baby she held, the baby who, to all intents and purposes, looked asleep. Previous experience warned Liv, though, that if she tried to put Jemima into her cot she’d wake with a start and scream the place down.

  He turned to face her fully, his eyes serious and his mouth grim. ‘She has to tell the father she’s pregnant.’

  He was projecting. Because he’d want to know if he ever fathered a child. He’d want to be involved in his child’s life.

  How can you possibly know that?

  Easy-peasy—look how seriously he was taking his responsibility towards Jemima and her unknown mother...when he wasn’t even sure if there was a link between them yet.

  ‘She has to tell him,’ he repeated.

  She glanced back at him. He really had a bee in his bonnet about it. ‘She’s going to...just as soon as she can track him down.’

  He’d started to subside against the sofa, but now he stiffened with an oath. ‘That’s why you requested leave, isn’t it? You wanted to help her? Why didn’t you say?’

  She swallowed, a weight pressing down on her shoulders. ‘We don’t talk about personal things in the office.’

  ‘I... No.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘You must think me some kind of ogre. If you need to go and support your sister you have my blessing. Take all the time you need.’

  A lump filled her throat. Why did he have to be so darn decent? She couldn’t speak so she merely raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Jemima.

  He lifted a stubborn chin. ‘I’ll cope.’

  That made her smile. He probably would but... ‘I love my sister to bits, Seb. She’s not just my sister. She’s my best friend too. I’d do anything for her—anything. But this is something she needs to do on her own.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’

  She wasn’t sure about anything.

  A silence descended. They didn’t speak, both evidently lost in their own thoughts. And then Jemima twitched and started to stir.

  Liv stared.

  Oh!

  ‘Seb, are you still awake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Recite something—a poem, a prayer, a song. I don’t care what. Nothing bombastic. Something gentle.’

  Without hesitation he recited the words to an Elvis Presley song. As he did, she watched the baby carefully. The twitching stopped and Jemima seemed to settle...to fall back into a deeper sleep.

  ‘I think talking soothes her...lulls her. I think it’s silence that she doesn’t like.’

  He crouched in front of them and recited another song. When he finished he stared into her eyes, his own wide and excited. ‘I believe you’ve cracked the puzzle.’

  He was so close she could feel his heat, and her chest swelled at the admiration in his eyes. Then his gaze lowered to her lips and the grey in his eyes turned warm and smoky, the silver lights in them sparking and glittering. An answering pulse kicked to life in her throat—an ache, an overarching thirst, stretching through her. She stared at the beckoning breadth of his shoulders, and her arms and legs went catch-me weak. Heat flooded her every cell.

  His eyes darkened to a smoky storm, but one corner of his mouth kinked upwards—a ragged edge full of wolfish satisfaction. He recognised her hunger...he revelled in it. And she need only give him one sign and he’d be more than happy to assuage it.

  She snaked her tongue out to moisten parched lips. It’d be so easy to run her hands across those shoulders, to learn their strength and latent power, to dig her fingers into the muscled flesh and pull him closer. Her breath hitched and her lips parted on an involuntary sigh.

  Temptation coiled around her in ever smaller circles, shackling her to her body’s demands. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it more than she could remember ever wanting anything.

  Her heart pounded so hard she was amazed the vibrations didn’t wake the baby.

  The baby...

  She blinked.

  Liz...

  Hell!

  Reefing her gaze from his, she stared doggedly down at Jemima and started inanely reciting nursery rhymes. Her heart had led her astray once before. She wasn’t giving it the chance to do so again.

  Seb wasn’t Brent, but he came from a different world to her, and it was just too...fraught.

  Too foolish.

  She’d lost too much last time.

  Without another word, Sebastian rose and left the room.

  She touched her lips to the baby’s head, and tried to slow the pounding of her pulse. ‘Oh, Jemima, there’s a whole can of worms I need to keep a lid on here. I can’t mess this up.’ Messing up was not an option.

  * * *

  Liv woke to find sunlight flooding Jemima’s room. She sat up and massaged the crick in her neck before pushing aside the blanket someone had placed over her. Sebastian?

  She rolled her eyes. Obviously it was Sebastian. There wasn’t anyone else here.

  She rested back and pulled in a breath. It was so blissfully quiet.

  She glanced at the clock and then did a double take. It was after nine o’clock!

  She counted off on her fingers. That meant she’d had somewhere between five and six hours’ sleep.

  Thank you, God!

  She was tempted to curl up and sleep for another two or three hours—she’d bet Sebastian wouldn’t mind—but curiosity propelled her to her feet. Where were Seb and the baby? And how had he managed to keep Jemima quiet for so long?

  She padded downstairs in her bare feet, and out to the kitchen with its attached conservatory. Seb was sitting at the table with Jemima on his lap and they were both eating...

  Oh, God, eating! Was Jemima ready for solids yet?

  She tried to ask the question, but as she rounded the table and caught sight of Seb properly, her throat closed over and nothing but a garbled sound emerged. Seb had changed out of his business trousers and button-down shirt and wore nothing but a pair of well-worn, low-slung jeans and a tight white T-shirt that outlined every lean, hard inch of him. The man was ripped and cut in ways she’d not imagined.

  In ways she’d tried not to imagine.

  And the reality made her mouth dry. She couldn’t look away.

  Jemima’s squeal and her waving arms broke the spell. Her evident excitement at seeing Liv filled her with warmth. She swooped in to give the baby a kiss, and then backed up again as the scent of hot, spicy man flooded her nostrils. She had the foresight to grab the jar of food Seb was feeding Jemima as she backpedalled, to read its label.

  ‘Baby custard...for babies of three months,’ he said, reaching over to take the jar back from her. ‘She loves it.’

  He fed Jemima a spoonful and she smacked her lips in evident enjoyment.

  ‘You can’t blame her. The stuff tastes great.’ He popped a teaspoon of custard into his mouth, half closing his eyes in relish before dipping the spoon back into the custard and holding it out to her. ‘You’ve got to try this stuff. It’s out of this world
.’

  For a moment she was tempted, and then she frowned. Had she entered an alternative reality? Where had Liz’s staid, remote boss gone? This scene—sexy man and cute baby, happy smiles and easy rapport...ooh, it was too attractive, too beguiling. She couldn’t allow herself to get sucked into it.

  Acid burned her stomach. Seb might not be twenty years older than her...as Brent had been, but he’d still be seven or eight years older. He was a man of the world, and there was little doubt he had far more experience than she.

  And he was a lord to boot!

  You know what happens when mere mortals fraternise with the gods.

  Not that he was a god.

  But she was a mere mortal. And she’d never fit into the life of someone like Sebastian Tyrell.

  ‘No?’ He held the spoon up a little higher, a teasing smile playing across those lips that had tempted her last night, and still tempted her today.

  No! And she couldn’t let him get sucked into this craziness either. He looked more than capable of looking after himself, but...

  He was grateful to her. He trusted her. And she was lying to him.

  ‘Ah.’ His face cleared. ‘Not human until after coffee and a shower. I remember. There’s coffee in the pot on the hotplate over there.’

  She drank her first cup black, and in silence, content to watch man and baby. They made a pretty contrast—the baby so small and fair and innocent, and the man so big and strong and—

  Stop staring!

  She drained the contents of her mug, set it on the table, and opened her mouth.

  ‘Nope.’ He pointed back the way she’d come. ‘Go and take that shower. I’ll put a fresh pot on to brew. It’ll be ready by the time you’re done, then you can drink another mug and then you’ll be human.’

  The kindness and warmth in his eyes made her chest burn. Without another word she turned and fled.

  She stood under the stinging spray of the shower and recited over and over, ‘Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up’ until her pulse returned to something approaching a normal rate.

  She scrubbed herself dry with a soft, fluffy towel that caressed her skin rather than abraded it, all the while trying to ignore the sparks, the aches and yearnings that ebbed and flowed through her. Things between her and Sebastian Tyrell were becoming far too cosy far too quickly.