One-Click Buy: November Harlequin Presents (26 page)

She couldn't fight him. Didn't really want to. He did have the right to know his child. But she couldn't bear him thinking she'd meant to shut him out. It wasn't true. She wouldn't have done that. Yet how could she make him believe her?

Her whirling mind clutched at a little piece of evidence. “I was going to tell you, Peter. I'll show you,” she threw at him, quickly side-stepping, sliding away from his touch, mentally pumping strength back into her legs as she charged across the living-room to the door leading to her study.

“Show me what?”

She ignored the question. He was hard on her heels, anyway. Seeing is believing, she thought wildly, flinging the study door open wide for him to follow and heading straight for her writing desk.

“Good God! Was
this
what you were thinking of when you were watching the races at Randwick?”

He had to be looking at the paintings of the winged horses, commissioned from the artist who illustrated her books. They were hanging on the study wall—inspiration while she'd been writing the story. “Yes.
The Mythical Horses of Mirrima
,” she answered distractedly. “You should have waited for that one if you want to make a movie of one of my books. It's the best I've done.”

“You wrote a story while you were so concerned about your pregnancy?”

The harshly critical tone in his voice implied she'd lied about having complications, as well as everything else.

“Thinking up words is not exactly physical labour,” she retorted, flashing him a resentful look as she rounded the desk. “And it kept my mind off other things.”

“Like a nagging conscience over hiding my child from me?”

“I wasn't going to!” she almost shouted at him.

He'd stopped just inside the study and cut a terribly forbidding figure, making her quail at trying to convince him of anything. But she had to. A future of gut-wrenching conflict between them had to be averted.

“Look!” she cried, pulling out the top drawer of her desk and grabbing the business card she'd fingered so many times, agonising over calling him, holding it out for him to see. “I kept it. Why would I have it so handy if I never meant to contact you?”

The laser blue eyes were briefly hooded as his gaze dropped to the card that was being shakily offered to him. For several nerve-wracking seconds he stared at it. His face remained grim. Her challenge wasn't working. She wasn't reaching him.

“For God's sake, Peter! You told me how you'd feel about your own children. How could I not give you the chance to be a hands-on father?”

It drew his gaze up to hers again, not quite so bitterly condemning now but still sceptical of her intentions.

“Remember our conversation about the Harpers?” she begged in appeal.

“I remember you saying you would only have a child within the security of a truly committed marriage,” he bit out as though that was another lie.

Anguish twisted through her, spilling into pleading words. “Doesn't that tell you this pregnancy was an accident? I didn't use you. I didn't plan anything. I've just been trying to get on with my own life until…”

Pain…more savage than before. She gasped, instinctively bending over to contain it.

“Erin?”

She couldn't answer the sharp inquiry. Her mind was yelling at her to breathe in quick pants, relax, ease the agony. Then to her horror, a gush of water drenched her panties and ran down her legs.

“Oh, no…no…” she wailed.

“What's wrong?”

She lifted her head.

Peter was striding towards her, full of urgent concern now.

“The baby,” she cried. “The baby is coming.”

A
COMPLETELY
different fear gripped Erin as Peter gently lowered her into the chair she used for writing—fear for the baby. Something had to be wrong for it to be coming a month early. She wrapped her arms protectively around her belly, rocking it in an agony of hope that all was still well.

“Try to stay calm. Panic won't help,” Peter coolly advised. “Give me your doctor's name and I'll get things moving for you.”

“Davis.” She nodded to the telephone on the desk. “Press six for his surgery.”

Within seconds he was acting for her. “This is Peter Ramsey, calling on behalf of Erin Lavelle. I need to be connected to Dr Davis immediately. This is an emergency.”

A waiting pause, then, “Yes, I am that Peter Ramsey. I'm with Erin Lavelle. Her water has broken and she's suffering labour pain. I'd appreciate it if you'd despatch an ambulance immediately to her house on Ocean Drive, number 14, and meet us at the hospital when we get there.”

Another pause.

The bad pain had receded, leaving only a dull ache. Erin couldn't help wondering how Dr Davis was reacting to a string of demands, backed by the power of the Ramsey name and everything it stood for.

“Thank you,” Peter said, obviously having received a satisfactory reply. He put the telephone receiver back in its cradle and turned his attention to her, catching the frown of concern on her face. “I've missed something?” he asked.

“You're going to turn this birth into a three-ring-circus bandying your name about like that.”

His eyes glittered derisively at her complaint. “You might as well start getting used to it, Erin. You'll be attached to the Ramsey zoo for a long time to come. And quite frankly, I don't give a damn for your reclusive inclinations in this particular instance. For the sake of our child, I'm asking for top priority service, and since my mother has guided my father into donating millions to the medical system of this country, I consider it a reasonable request.”

It probably was. And she was grateful that he had ensured quick attention for her and the baby, grateful that he was here, helping her. “I'm sorry. It just seemed…unnecessary. I'm not…not thinking straight.”

“Don't worry about it,” he said more kindly. “Just let me take care of everything. Do you want to get out of these wet clothes while we're waiting for the ambulance or do you think it's best not to move?”

“I'm frightened of moving.”

“Okay. I'll have the ambulance people bring in a stretcher.”

“There's a bag packed ready for going into hospital. It's in my bedroom, along the hallway on the right.”

“I'll put it by the front door. Is it all right for me to leave you for a minute?”

“Yes.”

But the moment he left the study the pain cut through her again. She struggled out of the chair and leaned against the desk. Somehow that was easier for her to manage the contraction than from a seated position. Peter came back, stood beside her, stroked her hair, making her choke up at the unexpected gesture of tender caring from him.

“Won't be long before the ambulance arrives,” he murmured sympathetically.

Tears swam into her eyes. She couldn't speak. It ran through her mind that if she
had
told him about her pregnancy, maybe he would have looked after her. Independence was all very well—she had coped—but it had been very lonely and she was intensely relieved not to be alone right now, to have Peter taking charge of everything.

He remained by her side; in the ambulance, at the hospital, in the labour ward. No one questioned his right to be there. The nurses seemed to regard him with awe, quickly answering anything he wanted to know. Dr Davis also treated him with considerable deference as he monitored Erin's labour, assuring them both that everything was proceeding normally.

It never once occurred to Erin to protest his presence. Although he hadn't declared himself the father of her child to all and sundry, there was no denying he was, and she wanted him with her at the birth. However deep their differences, they had made this baby together and it felt right for their child to be welcomed into the world by both parents.

The contractions were coming fast. She barely had time to catch her breath in between the waves of pain. Peter sat beside her, watching anxiously, giving her his hand to grip, repeating what the doctor said—
head engaged, won't be long, bearing down soon—
as though she couldn't hear for herself, or he needed to assure himself that this agony had a short time limit.

Erin didn't try to speak. She'd stipulated a natural childbirth, thinking she might never have another child and wanting to remember everything about having this one. Her entire concentration was focussed on willing her baby to make a safe journey from her womb, imagining every pain as a positive step forward. The urge to push came suddenly and was almost uncontrollable.

“Not too hard, Erin,” the doctor instructed. “Slow it down if you can, a nice, gentle passage, no tearing. Yes, that's good…coming now…head in my hands…”

She felt a rush of release, heard her baby cry, and tears welled into her eyes.

“It's over…over,” Peter murmured huskily, gently wiping the trickle of moisture spilling down her cheeks.

“You have a healthy baby boy,” the doctor declared. “And despite being a month early, he's a good birth weight, Erin. Nothing for you to worry about.”

The assurance brought a further gush of tears. She'd worried so much about so many things, but now her baby was safely born and she didn't have to let Peter Ramsey know he was a father because he was right here, and he couldn't be angry with her for giving him a son, could he? There was no anger at all in the caring way he was mopping up her emotional spillover, trying to calm her down with soothing words.

“It's okay, Erin. You did it. And the baby's fine. I'll bring him to you.”

He rose from his chair. She realised he must have been anxious about the birth, too, worrying over having brought on premature labour by raging over her decisions. He probably felt the same overwhelming relief she did. It would be silly to read too much into his caring for her. She was the mother of his child—reason enough to set other issues aside for a more appropriate time.

“Cord clamped. All wrapped up ready to go,” Dr Davis said cheerfully, laying their newborn son in the crook of Peter's arm. “We'll just clean up here, then leave the three of you together.”

Three…

Linked for the rest of our lives, Erin thought, watching Peter's face as he looked down at the baby who would be part of his future. How large a part would Peter want? A whimsical little smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he murmured in a bemused tone, “He's so little.”

You're so big.

“Won't be when he grows up,” Dr Davis remarked knowingly. “He's a long baby. Going to be a tall boy.”

Peter's smile widened into a grin.
Just like me,
was written all over it. Would the likeness make his paternal possessiveness stronger? Fear fluttered through Erin's heart. What if he fought her for more than his fair share of their child? She held out her arms, wanting to hug her baby to herself.

The grin remained, Peter's vivid blue eyes sparkling with warm delight as he obliged her, carefully laying their son on her chest, snuggling him between her breasts. It felt so good to hold him at last, not a bump anymore, but a wonderful little person who was snuffling towards one breast as though he could already smell his mother's milk.

A smile broke out on her own face as a surge of love rose above every other emotion, momentarily blotting out the conflict that his life would inevitably bring between her and Peter. Despite the problems of her pregnancy, she'd given safe birth to this miraculous little being…her baby, her very own child.

Peter sat down again, reached out and ran a featherlight finger over the fuzz of fine hair, sounding immensely pleased as he commented, “He's fair. Charlotte's son has very dark hair like Damien's.”

Not like a Ramsey. But this son was.
That was what he was thinking.

Erin took a deep breath, fighting the fear that frayed her nerves. “Baby hair often falls out, Peter,” she said as calmly as she could. “There's no telling what colouring he'll have further down the track.”

“Whatever…”

Not the slightest crack in his good humour.

Erin heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe she was fearful of too much and Peter would not try to take the lion's share of their child. Right now he was exuding pleasure. She should relax, enjoy the maternal rush of holding her baby.

Dr Davis finished clearing up, assured Erin that the afterbirth procedure had gone well—no problems at all—had a few words with Peter, informing him that Erin and the baby would soon be moved to a private room where their every comfort and need would be looked after. The latter exchange reminded her that respect for the Ramsey name had ensured every care had been taken and would be taken, and she should be appreciative of the fact.

She looked at the wall clock as the doctor and nurse moved out, closing the door behind them. It surprised her to see it was only just past one o'clock—a relatively quick birth, though the labour had seemed to go on for a long, long time. She looked directly at Peter who had resumed his seat at her bedside.

“Thank you for all you've done.”

There was a flash of irony in his eyes. “The least I could do in the circumstances.”

For a moment she forgot the indomitable warrior who would fight for what he wanted, and remembered the prince, riding in to the rescue—the magnificent man he had been in her imagination. “I'm glad you were here for me. For us,” she said huskily.

“I would have been all along if you'd let me, Erin,” he replied, restirring her guilt for not telling him about her pregnancy.

“I'm sorry.”

He shook his head. “It's gone.” The blue eyes pierced hers with determined purpose. “We're here now. And we have our son to consider.”

“Yes,” she agreed, though her mind instantly shied away from discussing the future. Her hand curled protectively around her baby's head as she turned her gaze from Peter and looked at their son, not wanting him torn between two worlds.

“Have you thought of any names for him?”

They were not fighting words. There was a smile in his voice. Erin's inner tension eased a little. Peter wouldn't want their son hurt by a conflict between his mother and father. Surely he'd do his utmost to prevent it.

“I like Jack,” she answered.

“Jack…Jack Ramsey. Sounds good. I like it, too.”

Erin's jaw tightened. She had to stop this take-over, stand up for her rights. Her eyes flashed her own determination. “It will be Jack Lavelle.”

The soft indulgence instantly disappeared from his face, replaced by a steely resolution that wasn't about to brook any opposition. “You said the pregnancy was an accident, Erin,” he reminded her. “Was that the truth?”

“Yes,” she replied unflinchingly.

“Were you speaking the truth when you told me you would only bring a child into this world within the emotional security of a fully committed marriage?”

“Yes. But this was unplanned, Peter. I'm only too aware that it's not the ideal situation I talked about. I can't help that. I hope—”

“Yes, you can,” he cut in, his eyes boring into hers. “You can help our son to have all he should have from his mother and father.”

“I'll do my best to come to a fair agreement with you.”

“How good is your best?” he challenged. “Will you go so far as to pledge yourself to a fully committed marriage with me?”

The totally unexpected proposal stunned her into silence. She stared at him, feeling the mental pressure he was applying, realising he already had his mind set on what course should be taken and was ruthlessly intent on making it happen.

Marriage…to Peter Ramsey!

Words he'd spoken to her earlier bounced around her dazed mind…
You'll be attached to the Ramsey zoo for a long time to come. Might as well start getting used to it.

It was ridiculously old-fashioned to get married for the sake of a child. People didn't do it these days. There was no need to, particularly in this country. If unmarried mothers were in economic difficulties, they could get child support from the government. Besides, Peter knew she was independently wealthy. No financial problems. But he wasn't talking financial support. He was targeting emotional security for their son, having both parents form a tight family unit for him.

“You can't
want
to marry me,” she cried, seizing on the hard reality that unresolvable issues between parents did not provide a happy home life for a child.

“Why not?” he shot back, unmoved by her protest.