The Single Dad's Marriage Wish (Bachelor Dads) (10 page)

‘I might just have that glass of wine after all!’ Her voice was high as she headed for the fridge. ‘I’m not on till midday. Do you want one?’

‘Better not—I have to pick up Bailey then be back there by eight. Go ahead, though.’

She did.

The tiniest of drinkers, like a child taking some awful medicine, she took a sip and then another, hating the tears that were starting to build, hating that he noticed.

‘It’s okay to be upset.’

‘I know!’A jagged smile ripped through her strained features. ‘It kinds of put my day into perspective.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, Charlotte, and you know it…grief compounds grief with all you’ve been through today….’

‘You can’t compare a family of six to a pony,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘You can’t even begin to compare a family of six with a
blind…stupid…old…pony
…’ She stopped herself then, the chainsaw that had spluttered into life cutting out just before it let rip. But Hamish
wasn’t going to give in—this, the most raw he had seen her, the most
honest
she had been—a glimpse of the real Charlotte he knew was there finally coming to the fore, and he wasn’t going to lose her now.

‘Who’s comparing?’ Hamish said softly, taking her tense shoulder in his hands. ‘If we lived by those rules then losing Emma shouldn’t hurt that much. I’m just saying—’

‘Well, don’t!’ She snarled the words out, her hand raised to push him away to run for the stairs, to get to her room and take off the beastly uniform that hadn’t even been needed, or run out to the stables and bury her head in Fitz’s neck, wanted to howl out loud for all the people who were lonely and sad and scared tonight.

All the people who were missing someone they loved.

Cassie!

The cord was out on the chainsaw, her mind buzzing with grief that she could never ever share, and
nothing
was going to obliterate it, not a glass of wine, not some carefully chosen words of comfort…

Nothing!

His lips on hers were as unexpected as they were blissful.

Calm creeping in when surely it should be the opposite!

His full mouth pressing on hers, hushing the pain in her mind.

Strong hands moving from her shoulder and pulling her into his strong warmth.

And that teasing taste made her hungry for more, his
tongue cool and welcome as it slipped between her lips, and it was such bliss to be held, to be held by someone so strong, to have someone just take over the reins for a little bit and not just someone, but Hamish…

‘Oh, Charlotte…’ His voice was a rasp as he pulled back, questions, guilt perhaps flickering in those guarded hazel eyes, but she didn’t want to hear how impossible it was, didn’t care about the regret that might hit tomorrow, because the glimmer of bliss he had brought her tonight had been so unexpected, her pain so seemingly impossible to eradicate, yet with one kiss he had.

‘Why shouldn’t we be happy,’ Charlotte whispered, ‘even if it’s just tonight?’

She didn’t know how she got to his bedroom. Vaguely she could remember them kissing all the way up the stairs, her uniform, his clothes strewing the hallway like a trail to the bedroom, but never, never in a million years would she forget the beauty of the moment they faced each other naked—the sheer heaven of his toned body just a breath away as he stared down at her, his tender eyes caressing her, warming her, and even if they weren’t touching, for now it was more than enough.

‘You’re beautiful, Charlotte.’ There was this hint of wonder in his voice and she wasn’t insecure enough to misinterpret it—knew with blinding certainty that he’d never figured on saying it in this room to a woman who wasn’t Emma.

‘So are you.’

He kissed her again, only not on the lips, burying his
face in her neck, his hot mouth working each exquisitely tender angle, till there was no where to go except closer.

His body pressed against her quite simply felt divine—just so, so male, Charlotte realised with a little sigh.

‘We’re so different.’ Pulling back, she stared back at him.

‘I know,’ Hamish rasped. ‘I know on paper we could never ever work, but—’

‘Not in that way.’ Charlotte giggled, nervous and excited at the same time. Running a tentative hand over his thighs, she told him a little more of what she was thinking. ‘I
like
that you’re hairy, only not too much.’

‘And I like that you’re smooth,’ Hamish countered, his own hand moving not quite so quickly and lingering for way too long on her bottom.

‘What about this bit?’ Charlotte whispered, guiding his mouth to breasts that had teased him for ever, closing her eyes in bliss as he contemplated the difference, utterly breathless when finally Hamish delivered his verdict. ‘Way more interesting than mine.’

‘Are you sure?’He thought she was offering a licence for him to continue, only he was wrong, his hand involuntarily scrunching her hair as she lavished him with the same amount of attention he had bestowed, his erection dancing unattended as her tongue caressed his nipples, as her little sharp teeth nibbled—and just as he was about to explode, just as he was about to push her on the bed and make very quick but very glorious love to her, Charlotte looked up and the flirting the teasing ended.

‘Will we be okay?’

‘Way better than okay,’ Hamish promised, and she chose to believe him, chose to partake in the glorious dance unfolding as they became more than a man and a woman, but a couple, tasted each other, adored each other, sure enough now to know this was happening, to lie on the bed together, to drift onto cotton and feel his skin next to her, to drown in the exquisite balm of his foreplay, to feel his hands stroke away the pain and take her elsewhere…And to do the same for him.

And there was no rush, because they had each other for as long as was needed, the train of grief pausing at the station for as long as was required, and they were both so grateful just to step off for now.

He was just glorious, though incredibly demanding, but, then, so was she, shivering in delight as he tenderly explored her, her bottom wiggling in his palm as she breathlessly urged him on.

Today, tonight, had been agony, but it faded away when finally he took her, filling her, holding her, loving her, and it was easier to give in than to fight it, easier to trust him and love him right back, her orgasm so intense, so consuming it could have blocked out the sun if needed.

Yet if it was bliss for Charlotte, then for Hamish it was more.

More than he could have ever hoped or dared to feel again.

And it wasn’t just the sex that was brilliant, it was all of it.

All of her.

The bed the right size with her there beside him.

Spooning her warm, flushed body into his, feeling her relax against him as sleep drifted in, he stared into the darkness and tried to fathom the impossible—a woman who wasn’t Emma was lying beside him and he felt relaxed, happy for the first time in ages.

A woman called Charlotte was lying in his arms and all it felt was right.

W
HOEVER
said things always seemed better in the morning hadn’t woken to the wedding picture of Hamish’s late wife smiling down at her—or felt the tension creep into his body as he’d stirred beside her—the arm that had held her close through the night pulling her towards him as naturally as breathing then stiffening as his mind no doubt skipped to its rude awakening and the realisation that she wasn’t Emma. Okay, Charlotte reasoned, he didn’t run out of the bed screaming and, sure, he’d tried to kiss her and smile and pretend he didn’t regret it, but the air was so thick with guilt she swore she could taste it.

‘I’m just going to have a shower…’ He climbed out of bed and tried hard to look her in the eye, but failed spectacularly. ‘I’m running a bit late…’

‘Sure.’ Charlotte’s smile was as wide as it was false, turning off like a tap the second the bedroom door closed, and then, when she heard the taps safely running, Charlotte made her move.

Emma’s
clothes
were still in the wardrobe, her shoes
lined up on the floor as if daring Charlotte to even
try
to step into them.

The room surely the same as she’d left it on the day she’d died—it was as if Emma had just popped out to the shops, or was away for a couple of days, and for Charlotte it was like being punched in the stomach as realisation hit.

Hamish hadn’t move on an inch.

Inherently nosy, though entirely without malice, Charlotte opened Emma’s bedside drawer. The familiar cover of a book Charlotte had enjoyed a couple of years ago stared back at her, a book that only a woman would either read or understand, and Charlotte picked it up, tears welling in her eyes as she saw the bookmarked page near the back of the book and read where Emma had got up to, wishing for her just another night in bed, a few more hours so she could have found out the end. She carefully replaced the book. Heading to the dresser and picking up a ring that lay in a little glass dish on there, Charlotte stared at yet another photo and somehow felt as if she should say something.

‘He didn’t mean it…’ She stared back at Emma, took in the ripe, pregnant body dressed in nothing more than a bikini, stared into emerald-green eyes that were crinkling with a smile as she faced the camera, and Charlotte was in no doubt that Hamish had been the person who had taken the photo, the captured moment just so intimate, so, so loving, quite simply it couldn’t have been anyone else. ‘He just misses you and last night…’ Charlotte swallowed. ‘Well, he must have been hurting just a little bit more.’

He’d tell her to leave.

Of that she was certain.

Oh, not this morning. Hamish was way too much of a gentleman to kiss and run—but unless she dealt with this quickly, in a week or a month she’d be out of here…last night had been too much, too soon.

Way too much!

Charlotte closed her eyes for a second—recalled their love-making, the heady intimacies they had shared that had been so much more than sex.

God, what would Cassie do? And for the first time her sister’s perspective evaded her—Charlotte really didn’t know what her sister would have done. Fifteen-year-olds had major crushes, fifteen-year-olds
thought
they were in love…

Twenty-eight-year-olds
knew
when they were.

She loved him.

Not fancy, or like, or maybe, or possibly a bit more…

Some time, somehow, living with her handsome, detached boss and his gorgeous, loving little boy she had actually fallen in love with him.

Dropping the ring back into the dish, as realisation hit, Charlotte actually averted her eyes from the photo—felt more than a fraction of the guilt that was surely drenching Hamish now, her mind racing for answers, wishing she could somehow erase last night, so that Hamish didn’t hate her this morning.

Wishing she could buy herself just a little more time so that maybe, just maybe he could come to love her, too.

She had to deal with this—and soon.

‘Whoops!’ Pouring water onto instant coffee, Charlotte gave Hamish a beaming smile as he came into the kitchen. Dressed and smelling divine, he was drying his hair on a towel and trying to pretend things were normal between them.

‘What do you mean, “Whoops”?’

‘Tell me you’re not thinking the same…’ Still she smiled as she watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down.

‘We can talk tonight…’ He put down the towel and started organising Bailey’s nappy bag, but Charlotte didn’t want to talk about it tonight, knew that a few hours of unchecked guilt would have Hamish coming up with a solution she didn’t want to hear.

‘It’s okay, Hamish. I’m not expecting a dozen roses to arrive before my shift. Last night was great and everything, but we both know—’

‘Know what?’ Finally he was looking at her and never had she struggled more to be ditzy and dizzy.

‘That last night probably shouldn’t have happened. Last night were both feeling wretched—you missing Emma, me upset over Scottie, and then the fire…It was just one of those things.’ She gave a little shrug, tried as hard as she could to convince him that just because of what had happened last night, the little world they had created, the world they were
starting
to create, didn’t have to end. Her eyes strayed to the fistful of nappies he was holding because it was easier than looking at him, but he misconstrued the meaning. ‘All a bit too much responsibility for you, Charlotte? Tell you what…’ His voice was clipped as he spoke, his eyes
narrowing as he eyed her standing there, still not looking at him. ‘Next time you can’t sleep, why don’t you do us both a favour?’ Bypassing the coffee she had made, his hand pushed the barely touched bottle of wine she had opened last night towards her. ‘Just have another glass of this instead.’

‘So you’re sure there’s nothing between you two…’

Frowning, Hamish stared intently at the X-ray on the lightbox—not that there was any need. The second he’d snapped it up he’d seen the problem—staring boldly back at him between the jumble of old fractures and calcification was a new Colles’ fracture, which meant plaster, elevate, back in twenty-four hours for review. But for his sudden scrutiny it might just as well have been a multiple trauma’s CT up on the screen!

‘Sorry?’

‘Charlotte Porter.’ Cameron blushed. ‘I was going to ask her out again. I just wanted to make sure…I mean…’ He was stumbling with embarrassment. ‘I know that you two are living together.’

‘She’s my babysitter,’ Hamish snapped. ‘My live-in babysitter—so, yes, I suppose, effectively we live together.’

‘I just wanted to be sure that you weren’t…’ Cameron was practically purple now and the easiest thing would have been to put him out of his misery, to tell him the truth—that after her little speech that morning there was absolutely nothing between him and Charlotte Porter, that she was just a live-in help, yet he couldn’t quite manage it.

When he’d woken that morning to find her beside him, he’d been so loaded with guilt at what had taken place he’d barely even been able to look at her. Only his guilt wasn’t solely reserved for Emma, an extremely generous serving had been cut for Charlotte.

She’d been so raw, so vulnerable last night…He should have had more control, should have gone to bed instead of…

Hell, to think he’d been worried that
she’d
think he’d taken advantage of her, had guiltily acknowledged that maybe he had just a touch. It had never entered his head that it had been Charlotte taking advantage of him! It had never even crossed his mind when he’d come down the stairs ready to tell her he was sorry, that if she thought he’d rushed things last night then he was more than happy to take things a little more slowly, that she’d be standing grinning at the kettle and chalking it down to experience!

‘She’s a fun girl.’ Cameron gulped. ‘She’s so upbeat and happy…’

‘We’re supposed to be doing the fracture clinic,’ Hamish tartly pointed out, ‘not discussing the supposed assets of my live-in help.’

‘I just wanted to be sure that’s all she is.’ Cameron flashed a nervous smile. ‘I just wanted to check—I mean, I know you’re older than her and that…’He gave a small cough. ‘Well, what with your baby and everything, you’d be a petty unlikely couple. I just don’t want to step on the boss’s toes and all that.’

‘Please!’ Hamish’s voice was dry. ‘There’s nothing between us and, as
old
as you think I might be, I’m
neither Charlotte’s lover nor her father—she doesn’t need my permission to date.’ Slapping a red spot on the X-ray, he turned to his resident. ‘Where’s the fracture?’

His frown deepened as Cameron floundered. ‘Come on—surely you can see it? No one could miss this.’

‘There…’ Cameron’s shaking finger pointed out the irregularity—and Hamish felt a tinge of guilt. Thanks to osteoporosis, Anna Cleveland’s X-rays were to most newly trained eyes pretty indecipherable, but Cameron had spotted the most recent deformity.

‘So, what now?’

‘Plaster, elevate, analgesia, review in twenty-four hours. Anything I’ve missed?’ Cameron added nervously, when Hamish didn’t respond to his treatment plan.

‘Nothing,’ Hamish answered with more than heavy dash of irony then, as Cameron beat a hasty exit, he added, ‘You’ve missed absolutely nothing!’

‘Er, is there a nurse who works here called Charlotte?’ A good-looking guy standing in front of him, holding a bunch of flowers and a vast tin of chocolates, did nothing to improve Hamish’s already black mood—why the hell didn’t she just set up a dating agency at the reception desk?

‘Charlotte?’ Hamish frowned and pretended he had no idea who he was talking about. ‘I’m not sure if there is—you’ll have to ask at Reception.’

‘Hamish!’ Vince King came running towards them, tucking away his mobile phone and pumping a bemused Hamish’s hands and explaining things to his son. ‘That’s the Dr Adams I was telling you about,
Ronan.’ He beamed over at Hamish. ‘We’re just on our way home—I told Ronan all that you did for him, for me, too! We just wanted to come and say thank you before we left.’

‘Oh, my!’ Strange that on a day like this, he was reminded again why Emergency would be so hard to leave, why he couldn’t bring himself to work in Admin or stand in front of a group of medical students and attempt to prepare them for times like this…because standing six feet two, staring directly back at him, Ronan was almost unrecognisable as the man who had lain unconscious and lifeless in Resus. A man who had been so very close to death just a short time ago.

Not to Charlotte, though—a can of cola in hand, she gave a loud wolf whistle as she approached that had them all jumping.

‘Look at you!’ She grinned in wonder. ‘I hardly recognised you with your clothes on.’

‘This is Charlotte.’ Hamish introduced them just a touch sheepishly, now he had realised just who her admirer actually was, watching as an embarrassed Ronan handed the bunch of flowers to an embarrassed Vince, who then handed the flowers to a delighted Charlotte and then, after a moment’s deliberation, gave in and hugged her.

‘You were great that day,’ Vince said in a gruff voice. ‘You listened to what I was telling you—then, even when the news wasn’t great you gave it to me straight. I really appreciate it.’

‘You’re more than welcome. Gosh…’ she added,
staring over at her ex-patient in wonder. ‘You’re a walking miracle, do you know that?’

‘I’ve been told that several times,’ Ronan nodded. ‘Apparently my gumboots saved me—if I hadn’t been wearing them, I’ve been told I’d have been cooked like a sausage on a barbecue.’

‘Any lasting injuries?’ Hamish checked.

‘Some.’ Ronan nodded. ‘I’ve got to come in for some more tests in a few weeks—and I’ve got some nasty burns on my feet which need to be dressed twice a day…’ Only then did Hamish notice the oversized runners covering his undoubtedly heavily bandaged feet as Ronan continued, ‘But I’m not complaining.’ He gave a low laugh. ‘Not ever again. I
know
how lucky I am to be here!’

‘And don’t you ever forget it,’ Charlotte said, her breathy voice suddenly serious. She gave him one of her endless supply of hugs. ‘Not for a single moment—do you hear me?’

But the magic wand that had graced Ronan that morning still hadn’t found its way to the paediatric ward. Despite intensive treatment for his skin condition and a lot of work behind the scenes with the school, psychologists and social workers, a forlorn face greeted Charlotte as she popped in on her afternoon tea-break. Andy looking lost and alone all over again now his new-found friend had been discharged and sent home.

‘I love your new glasses!’

‘Thanks.’ Andy barely looked up, his little face working up to cry, and Charlotte could guess why—the
intensive treatment had made a vast improvement to his skin, regular chats with the child psychologist and social worker had addressed some of the tough issues of his bullying and anxiety but, for Andy, the hard yards were about to begin. ‘I go home tomorrow.’ He gave her a worried frown. ‘Then back to school on Wednesday.’

‘How do you feel about that?’

‘Dunno.’ Andy shrugged. ‘A bit nervous.’

‘It’s okay to be nervous.’

‘The teachers have spoken to them—the bullies,’ Andy added, and Charlotte nodded. ‘And Mum said they’ve spoken to their parents as well.’

‘That’s good!’

‘How can it be good?’ Andy shouted loudly, letting out a little of what he was holding in, and Charlotte glanced around, catching the ward nurse’s eye and gesturing to the curtain. After a nod, Charlotte stood up and closed them around his bed as Andy carried on. ‘They said I wasn’t to tell anyone,’ Andy sobbed, angry and scared and not knowing what to do. ‘What if it made things worse?’

‘It’s all out in the open now, Andy, and it might just have things a whole lot better,’

‘Or a whole lot worse,’ he sobbed, refusing to be comforted.

‘Could it be much worse than it already was?’ Charlotte questioned gently.

‘Maybe. What if they still don’t stop?’

‘Then you have to brave and tell someone.’

‘I did that,’ Andy gulped. ‘I told you.’

‘And you did the right thing,’ Charlotte said gently
but firmly. ‘I know it was the hardest thing in the world to do and I think you’ve been so brave. And I know you don’t think grown-ups can possibly understand, that you don’t think anyone can understand…’