Accidental Baby

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Authors: Kim Lawrence

BOOK: Accidental Baby
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“I’m the father!”
Jo nodded solemnly and willed the emotional tears not to fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Declan. I wanted to, but it’s not the sort of thing you can add as a postscript to a letter, is it?”
 
But her first instinct had been to call him. All she’d wanted was his arms around her, telling her it would be all right. Declan was
always
the person she ran to when she was in trouble.
 
“I won’t let you shut me out, Jo.”
 
“Whatever made you think I’d try? But we didn’t plan this. You didn’t want to become a father, at least not to
my
child. We can’t pretend we’re suddenly in love . . . . ”
She’s sexy, successful... and PREGNANT!
Relax and enjoy our new series of stories about spirited women and gorgeous men, whose passion results in pregnancies . . . sometimes unexpected! Of course, the birth of a baby is always a joyful event, and we can guarantee that our characters will become besotted moms and dads—but what happened in those nine months before?
 
Share the surprises, emotions, dramas and suspense as our parents-to-be come to terms with the prospect of bringing a new little life into the world . . . . All will discover that the business of making babies brings with it the most special love of all . . . .
 
Look out next month for:
The Unexpected Baby
(#2040)
by Diana Hamilton
KIM LAWRENCE
Accidental Baby
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CHAPTER ONE
L
IAM RAFFERTY stared down at the sleeping figure beside him with a stunned expression. In a distracted manner he ran his fingers through his tousled dark hair. In profile her nose was tip-tilted and covered with a light sprinkling of freckles. Her long, dark eyelashes were tipped with gold and when her eyes opened he knew they would be deep green flecked with bronze.
When she woke . . . His fist went to his mouth and he bit back a groan. Abruptly the sleeping figure began to move, unfurling from the foetal position and rolling onto her back—arms above her head with her fingers pushed into the shoulder-length Titian-red tangle of curls that covered her small head. The sinuous undulations of her shm body caused the cotton sheet to slide down.
Liam, who had been about to do something sensible and decisive—like get some clothes on—paused. Not even the harshest critic could have found anything to criticise about her breasts, and Liam was by no means harsh. Her skin was milky pale and the light sprinkling of freckles over the uppermost curves was kind of cute. In the dark they’d just about fitted into the palm of—whoa, boy! He firmly shut off access to that particular memory.
Don’t panic, just think sensibly, calmly, he told himself firmly. Problem was the visual feast on offer was incredibly distracting. Would she wake if I just sort of pulled up the...? Too late! At least his eyes had been on her
face
when her sleepy eyes opened. If she’d caught him ogling!
A dreamy smile curved Jo Smith’s generous lips. ‘Hi,
Liam,’ she murmured sleepily. She froze mid-stretch and her eyes opened to their fullest extent. ‘Liam?’ Her eyes ran down his bronzed torso and a strangled squeak escaped her lips. A firm, ‘We didn’t?’ was swiftly followed by a wail of, ‘We did!’
This was one of those situations, he reflected, when your imagination couldn’t prepare you for just
how
bad a situation was going to be. Despite his best intentions, Liam’s self-control slipped for just a second. It had been doing that a lot recently! Jo’s eyes followed the direction of his gaze and she snatched up the sheet and pulled it up to her chin, giving him the sort of look that made him feel like a defiler of purity.
‘Try and keep this in proportion, Jo. It’s not
that
bad.’
‘Not that bad!’ She went pink. Was he mad? This was worse than bad—this was a disaster.
‘I don’t blame you for hating me. I deserve it . . .’ he began miserably.
‘Don’t be stupid, I don’t hate you,’ she returned impatiently.
God, men could be so obtuse sometimes—even Liam. Couldn’t he see this changed everything? Things could never be the same again. They’d thrown away something precious and rare for a moment’s . . . The clarity of her thoughts lost a certain something as she honestly acknowledged it had taken more than a moment the first time, and as for the second! A tide of heat washed over her skin leaving it pink and tingling.
‘You don’t?’ That was something. He gave a sigh of relief, but the wariness in his blue eyes remained. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did,’ he continued, quite determined to shoulder full responsibility. ‘I took advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable.’
‘The way I recall it I didn’t exactly fight you off with a stick,’ she responded drily.
Liam cleared his throat and his gaze slid away from hers. I knew it! she thought He can’t even look at me. God, what have we done? One crazy, stupid slip and a lifetime’s friendship goes down the toilet.
‘That’s not the point,’ he said stiffly. ‘I’m to blame.’
‘Have you any idea how ridiculous you sound, Liam Rafferty, talking like a character in a Victorian melodrama when you’re stark, staring naked?’ Even in her present state of agitation she couldn’t help giving an appreciative little sigh at how amazingly good his body actually was—her appreciation was purely aesthetic, of course. She wriggled into sitting position, bringing the thin cotton sheet around her like a tent.
‘For pity’s sake, Jo, I’m trying to say I’m sorry!’ he said, regarding her with growing irritation.
‘Charming!’ she replied, choosing to take exception to this apology.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning it was that awful, was it?’ Her lower lip quivered ever so slightly. ‘Was it?’ She silently cursed the note of anxiety that had crept into her voice.
‘You know it wasn’t, Jo.’ This time it was Jo who couldn’t maintain eye contact.
‘Right, good, excellent . . . ’ Briefly she closed her eyes in silent despair. What
do
I sound like?
The wooden bed-head creaked as Liam’s broad shoulders came to rest against it. ‘You’re not crying, are you, Jo?’
‘Of course I’m not crying!’ she returned, insulted that he could think she was that weak and
wet
. She’d always confidently denied the assertions of friends who said a man and woman couldn’t have a totally platonic relationship.
Liam was her best friend; it was almost coincidental that he was a man. Circumstances had conspired to draw them together almost from birth: the proximity of their homes in rural East Anglia; the fact that their mothers had been school friends, and, whilst her father was the local vet, his was a successful horse-breeder. Leaving home and pursuing diverse careers hadn’t weakened the bond between them.
She felt his arm slide across the wooden frame just above her shoulders and then quite suddenly he withdrew it. That made her want to cry quite badly. Their friendship had always been a tactile one—that he had to
think
about touching her now and then decide not to was a sad reflection of the new shape of things. . .
‘It started with a hug,’ he reminded her gruffly.
He could still read her mind, then, some things didn’t change.
‘That
bastard
hurt you so much I wanted to make you feel better. Then what do I do?’ He hit his clenched fist into his open palm and the slapping sound made Jo jump.
He
had
made her feel better—very much better! ‘You were the one that tried to stop.’ She could feel her cheeks burning with mortification at the memory. ‘I wouldn’t let you. Don’t go all hair-shirty on me, Liam.’ I wonder if there are any buttons left on his shirt? She gulped as she recalled how she’d torn the garment off him.
‘A man doesn’t take advantage of a woman like that,’ he maintained stubbornly.
‘You’re a rat, heel, skunk. There—satisfied? Does it make you feel any better?’ she demanded tartly. ‘Are you going to let your urge to be noble ruin our friendship? It’s not as if we’re going to make a habit of this, is it?’ she pointed out practically.
I’m speaking rhetorically, she told herself. All the same,
when his laughter came it was much too spontaneous for her taste. He could have at least pretended to think about it, she thought indignantly.
‘You’re right, Jo.’ This time his arm did go around her shoulders but Jo didn’t relax into his embrace. ‘We should just forget this ever happened.’ He couldn’t disguise the relief in his voice.
 
If the circumstances had been different Jo had no doubt that would have been exactly what she would have done. However, fate had stepped in to make that an impossibility for her.
‘Did you have a nice walk, dear?’
‘Lovely, thanks, Dad.’ The wind along the beach had made her cheeks glow. ‘I went farther than I meant to.’ She released the Velcro fastening on her waterproof jacket and shook back her hair. ‘What time are they expecting us?’
‘Half eight, but if you’re feeling too tired?’
‘Don’t fuss, Dad, there’s an angel,’ she pleaded. Her pleasure at all the pampering had already turned to impatience.
‘You’re meant to be taking things easy this weekend,’ he protested with a worried frown.
‘I am. If I relax much more I’ll disintegrate.’ Laughing, she went upstairs, mentally planning what she had in her wardrobe that would be suitable for the informal meal. She really would have to do some serious shopping very soon.
She’d thought her loose apple-green silky shirt was perfect, hiding a multitude of sins. Then she saw her sixteen-year-old sister in a minuscule miniskirt and skinny-rib top that left her tanned midriff bare. Her legs in knee-length leather platform boots went on for ever. Jo immediately felt extremely old and the size of a house.
‘Won’t you be cold, Jessie?’ Bill Smith asked casually as he averted his eyes from his daughter’s eye catching ensemble with a pained expression.
Jessie exchanged a grin with her elder sister. ‘He’s so subtle,’ she said admiringly. ‘What do you think, Jo?’ She gave a twirl.
‘You look great, Jessie,’ she replied honestly.
‘Yeah, I know.’ she said, preening herself in front of the mirror with a smug expression. ‘You’re looking a bit podgy, Jo, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Thanks a lot.’ Jo received this news with admirable equanimity.
‘Jessie!’ Bill Smith protested.
‘I’m kidding, Dad, just kidding,’ Jessie replied, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
 
‘Let me look at you.’
‘Yes, Aunty Maggie,’ Jo said meekly as the older woman placed her hands on her shoulders and examined her face with keen eyes. ‘Will I pass?’
‘You may smile, but your mother, God rest her, would have expected me to keep an eye on you. Wouldn’t she, Pat?’
‘Indeed she would, but don’t keep them standing out there in the hall, woman. Come along in.’
The fire in the grate of the high-ceilinged Victorian drawing room was as warm as the welcome. Aunt Maggie had been her mother’s best friend and this house had been a second home to Jo during her childhood.
‘Jo!’ Jessie, who stepped into the room in front of her, yelled. ‘Why didn’t you tell us Liam would be here?’
‘I didn’t know,’ Jo said faintly as she was carried over the threshold by a combination of her Uncle Patrick’s strong, guiding arm and an avalanche of goodwill.
‘She didn’t say a word, Liam,’ Jessie was saying as she hung around the neck of the glamorous son of their nextdoor neighbours. ‘We all thought you were digging up sleaze and exposing baddies behind the Iron Curtain.’ She ruffled his collar-length wavy dark hair and grinned affectionately into his blue eyes. She’d decided recently that older men were fascinating and Liam must be almost
thirty
now.
‘The Iron Curtain dissolved some time back.’ He placed her firmly back down on her feet. ‘Don’t they teach you anything in school these days?’
In a daze Jo watched her father move forward to shake the hand of the tall, rangy figure who stood with his back to her. ‘Pat tells me you’ve been digging into the archives in Moscow. Something interesting on the burner?’
‘Could be,’ Liam replied easily, ‘but it’s early days.’
‘I read that article you did on the working conditions in sugar plantations on the Dominican Republic. It was an outstanding piece,’ Bill Smith said warmly.
‘The photographer I was working with was the best.’
‘He’s so modest,’ Maggie Rafferty said fondly. She was justifiably proud of her son’s reputation as a top investigative journalist. ‘He’s working on another book, you know.’
‘Modest!’ Pat at her elbow mocked gently. Jo wasn’t fooled; she knew he was every bit as proud of their son as his wife. Liam’s last book had stayed in the best-seller list for three months, which was pretty good for a critically acclaimed
serious
tome.
Liam turned around at the sound of his father’s mocking laughter and saw Jo for the first time. His smile didn’t fade, but it did freeze as though his facial muscles were momentarily paralysed. She could see the falseness, but she rather envied him his composure.
He’d
been expecting to
see her, she reminded herself. It was all so ridiculously normal she wanted to laugh. Bad time for hysterical outbursts, Jo.
It was the very first time since that eventful morning-after that she’d actually seen him in the flesh, so to speak. There had been nothing deliberate about this; his job meant his lifestyle was gypsy-like. It had always been usual for them not to see each other for several months at a stretch. They’d written and spoken on the phone just as if it had never happened. But then that was the way they’d decided to play it, wasn’t it? And from Liam’s point of view it was probably working.
If Liam had felt any awkwardness at seeing her, he certainly recovered fast. He moved forward and kissed her on each cheek before pushing her to arm’s length, very much as his mother just had, and warmly examining her face.
‘I do believe you’re putting on weight, Jo, around the face,’ he said, a slight frown creasing his brow. ‘It suits you,’ he concluded with a smile. In the past he’d teased her about her fragile frame.
‘Of course she’s putting on weight, silly boy,’ his mother put in in an indulgent tone.
‘
I
got told off for telling her she’s fat,’ Jessie observed indignantly, sinking down into an armchair and helping herself to a handful of nibbles.
‘She isn’t fat,’ their father put in.

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