His Christmas Present (17 page)

The few early
stars glittered. He swallowed and stroked Harry’s back. He was so tiny, so
innocent and helpless. He had his whole life ahead of him, blank as a sheet of
the white paper that had played such a big part in his father’s life for so
long. What would he be when he grew up? A rugby player? A doctor? Find a cure
for cancer?

And suddenly Dion
understood. It didn’t matter what Harry turned out to be. Only his happiness mattered,
that he loved and was loved in return.

A fierce urge to
protect this tiny baby flowed over him. He wanted to watch him grow up, to
guide him and support him, to be there when he had his first broken heart, when
he got married, when his own children were born.

He didn’t ever
want to let him go.

Behind him, the
bathroom door opened and footsteps padded across the carpet. Megan’s hand
rested on his back.

“Are you two all
right? I wondered whether you’d strangled him, it had gone so quiet.” She moved
forward and looked at his face in the moonlight. “Oh, Dion.”

He touched his
cheek and realised it was wet. “I’m okay.” His throat closed up. “He’s so
perfect,” he managed to squeak.

 “Like his daddy.”
She put her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek, then kissed her son.

And he let the
tears flow, while in his arms the best Christmas present he’d ever received
gave tiny, snuffly snores.

Christmas Future

Dion put down his
book and looked across the floor to where Harry lay on a playmat. The baby had
been playing with the soft toys suspended from the frame above him, knocking
them with his hand, but to Dion’s surprise, Harry now lay on his front.

He pushed himself
off the sofa and bent down by the mat. “Did you just roll over?” He picked
Harry up and lifted him in the air. “Did Daddy’s big boy just roll over all on
his own?”

“What’s going on?”
Megan came in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“He was lying on
his front.” Dion kissed the boy’s chubby cheek. “He rolled over.”

“Harry!” Megan
laughed and kissed him too. “You clever boy!”

Harry beamed and
clutched a handful of her hair.

She winced. “Ouch.
I swear he wants me bald.”

Dion extricated
her hair from Harry’s fist and they walked out into the garden with him. “He’s
going to be an All Black with a grip like that, aren’t you mate?” He picked up
the miniature soft rugby ball he’d bought for his son and gave it to him. Harry
promptly put it in his mouth.

“I think he’s more
likely to be a chef,” Megan said. “He always wants to taste everything.”

Dion grinned and
sat at the table, sitting Harry on his lap, propping the baby’s back against
his chest. The New Zealand summer sun beat down, the air warm and humid. Harry wore
only a vest over his diaper, and he seemed to be enjoying the breeze that
washed over his bare legs.

It was three weeks
since Dion had come back from the UK after returning there for his father’s
funeral. He’d stayed in England for a week to finalise handing over his
customers and tying up the loose ends with Jack, and then he’d got on the plane
without looking back. He had more than enough savings to live on for a while,
and when the universities reopened after their summer break he was going to
book himself onto a teacher training course.

He’d also moved in
with Megan temporarily. She’d offered him a place to stay until they decided
what they wanted to do, and he’d accepted with the understanding that he’d sleep
in the spare room so they could take things slowly.

That had lasted
all of two nights, by which time the sexual tension between them had grown so
high they couldn’t keep their hands off each other any longer. Since then,
they’d slept in her bed, and it had very quickly become apparent that neither
of them wanted that to end any time soon.

Megan took the
seat opposite him. “The estate agent rang, by the way. They’ve got a property
just come on the market they want us to view.”

“Cool.”

“It’s quite big, a
couple of acres of bush plus a paddock for playing rugby in.” She smiled.

“Sounds great.”

Her smile slipped
slightly. “That’s if you’re sure. I don’t want to rush anything, Dion. Just say
if you want more time.”

In response, he
looked across her small garden to the jacaranda tree currently in full bloom,
lilac-coloured petals scattered all across the lawn. “There’s a kingfisher,” he
said, nodding toward the bird that sat on the lowest branch, its thorn-like
beak and shimmering turquoise coat obvious in the sunlight.

She glanced
across. “Yes. Must be here because of next door’s pond. I often see it flying
around.”

He took the
opportunity of the misdirection to retrieve something from his back pocket. It
was a small paper gift bag with two looped handles. He tucked the handles in
Harry’s hand, and the baby’s tiny fingers clutched it obediently.

When she turned
back, he looked down at his son. “I think Harry’s got something for you.”

She followed his
gaze, and her eyebrows rose. “What’s that?”

Harry tried to
suck the handles, and she laughed and pulled it free from his hand. “Thank you,
sweetie.” She glanced at Dion, then lowered her gaze and pulled the bag open.

She took out the
contents—a small card and a jewellery box.

Her cheeks
flushed, but she didn’t look back up at him. She put the box on the table and
opened the card.

Dion peered over
the top. “What did he write?”

Her lips curved.
“‘Daddy says
Will you marry me?
’” The flush deepened.

Dion feigned
astonishment. “Harry! Did you really ask Mummy that?”

She bit her lip,
her blush deepening.

“Open the box,” he
prompted.

She did so. The
large diamond solitaire glinted in the sunlight.

“You clever boy,”
Dion said to his son. “Where did you get the money to buy that?”

Smiling, he looked
back at Megan. Her eyes glistened.

“Dion,” she said.
“You don’t have to—”

“I know.”

“Seriously. We have
all the time in the world.”

“I know.” He
picked up her hand and kissed her fingers. “But there’s no doubt in my mind. I
love you. And I love Harry. I want us to be a family. And I want to wake up
next to you every morning for the rest of my life. I can’t get down on one knee
because I have a fat lump on my lap, but honey, tell me you’ll marry me and
make us the happiest two boys in the world.” He indicated his son’s cherubic
face. “He’s been planning this for weeks. You don’t want to make him cry, do
you?”

She gave a short
laugh and rubbed her nose. “No, I don’t want that.” And she got out of her
chair and gave him a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too.
I’m just so sorry I’ve wasted so many years coming to that conclusion.”

“It’s okay. It was
meant to be.”

He cupped her head
and kissed her, once, twice, and then a longer third time, moving his lips to
her cheeks as they grew wet from her tears.

Harry squawked and
pulled her hair, and they moved back, laughing.

“Okay, Mr. I-must-have-all-the-attention.”
She wiped her face and lifted him out of Dion’s arms. “Now, I know you’re a
Daddy’s boy, but there’s one thing that Daddy can’t do for you, isn’t there?” She
began to unbutton her shirt.

Dion leaned back,
legs crossed at the ankle, and watched them contentedly. Harry usually had a
doze after he’d been fed in the early afternoon, and Dion had taken to joining
Megan in bed after she lay Harry down for his nap. Sometimes they took the
opportunity to snatch some sleep together, drowsing in the warm afternoon
sunshine, locked in each other’s arms. And occasionally they made love, feeling
decadent and slightly wicked making the most of their time together while the
world rushed by outside the window.

Life was good, he
thought languidly. He liked being a dad. And he knew Megan wanted more
children.

Maybe it was time
to make themselves a little Christmas present for next year.

About
the Author

Serenity Woods
lives in the sub-tropical Northland of New Zealand with her wonderful husband
and gorgeous teenage son. She writes fun, emotional, and sexy romances in a
variety of romantic sub-genres. She’s won several writing competitions and is a
member of the Romance Writers of New Zealand. She would much rather immerse
herself in reading or writing romance than do the dusting and ironing, which is
why it’s not a great idea to pop round if you have any allergies. You can check
out all her books at
http://www.serenitywoodsromance.com
.

If you enjoyed
His
Christmas Present
, you may also enjoy
Remember
Me
by Serenity Woods.

He
has a second chance at love—but will he make the same mistake all over again?

New
Zealand Army soldier Hamish McIntyre’s returning home from war, and he’s half
the man he used to be. In his eyes, anyway. He’s lost the lower half of his
right leg, and the bomb also knocked out his memories of the last ten years.
When he returns home, his brother takes him to their beach house on the west
coast of New Zealand to recuperate, hoping the peace and quiet will help him
heal.

Hamish
can remember only one name—Rose. At the beach house he finally meets the girl
his brother tells him he was in love with—and broke up with—before he returned
to Afghanistan. Rose shocks him by announcing that he proposed to her before he
went away, but she turned him down because she didn’t want to marry a man in
the Forces.

Rose
still loves Hamish and finds herself falling in love all over again as she
tells him about their previous relationship. To Hamish, the attraction is brand
new, but his body seems to remember her even if his mind doesn’t. Before long,
they’re back where they started—in love and pulled in opposite directions by
his life in the military. Once again, Hamish has to choose between Rose and the
Army. What decision will he make this time?

Excerpt:

“I’ll never remember your birthdays now.”
Hamish McIntyre turned from the view of the New Zealand countryside and winked
at his father, who was driving the car. Robert winked back.

“You never remembered them
before
you had amnesia,” his mother said wryly from the back seat. “Don’t think you
can use that as an excuse.”

“Worth a try, though,” Hamish teased.

His brother, Eamon, also in the back,
snorted. “Is that the sort of thing we can expect from now on? You milking this
memory thing for all it’s worth?”

“Absolutely. I might as well make the most
of it. And expect lots of jokes about me being legless too. Even when I’m not
drinking.”

Everyone fell quiet, and Hamish glanced
over his shoulder to see Sarah McIntyre biting her lip as she looked away.
Eamon frowned at him, and Hamish cursed under his breath. He’d put his mother
through hell over the last few months. He didn’t want to see her cry again.
“Sorry, Mum. I guess you’re not quite ready for me to joke about it yet.”

She turned bright eyes back to him and
managed a weak smile. “If you’re ready, I’m ready, love. I’m just so relieved
you recognized us. I kept having this awful dream that we’d walk up to you and
you’d stare at us blankly.”

Me too,
thought Hamish, although he didn’t say it. “Of course I’d recognize you guys.
I’d have to have something a lot more serious than a bump on the head to knock
you lot out of my memory.”

“So come on then,” Eamon said, “what can
you remember, exactly? Is any of it coming back?”

Hamish looked out of the window again. “No.
Not yet. It’s all a bit muddled up there, but pretty much everything I’ve done
over the last ten to fifteen years has gone.”

“So you don’t remember anything about going
into the Army?” his father asked. “Nothing about Afghanistan?”

“Nope.”

“Perhaps that’s a mercy,” Sarah said
hopefully. “At least you don’t remember being blown up.”

“Yeah,” Hamish said, although he didn’t
agree. How could losing half his life possibly be a mercy? Everything he’d done
since he was in his mid-teens had vanished—all the people he’d met, the places
he’d been, the skills he’d learned. The fact that he couldn’t remember the
blast from the suicide bomber throwing him halfway across the country didn’t
make up for that.

To a certain extent, he could hide his
amnesia, but he didn’t have the benefit of being able to disguise his other
disability. It only took a glance to see he was damaged.