Page 39 of Prognosis Christmas Baby

Which meant the night was interminable. Too much time to think. To dwell on things. A father.

He was going to be a father!

Something he’d made a conscious decision never to be. Something he’d never even imagined. Had always, in fact, taken every precaution to prevent.

But it had happened anyway.

His mother would be ecstatic. So would his father. It wasn’t enough that their grandchildren already numbered twelve, they doted on each and every one and were overjoyed that his sisters didn’t appear to be finished yet.

But he didn’t want that for himself. Not now. Not ever. And yet here he was.

Why?

And why with the one woman who was rapidly coming to mean more than just a three-month fling to him? She ticked every box — smart, fascinating, gorgeous, funny and great between the sheets. And things had been going so well.

Now this.

Still his honour demanded that he do the right thing and by the time he pulled out of the rooftop car park the next morning he knew exactly what that involved.

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Maggie was lying onthe couch at around nine-thirty, the next morning absently staring at the blinking tree lights just visible in the daylight, her mind adrift, when there was a knock at the door. She’d fallen asleep on the couch late last night, staring at the lights twinkling in the tinsel.

And she hadn’t yet got her ass up.

Letting her head loll off the edge of the lounge slightly, she looked back through her fringe, to the front door. She could see a large male silhouette and she didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out it was.

For a moment she contemplated ignoring it, feigning sleep, but whatever else had happened here yesterday, whatever challenges they faced right now, she needed to thank him for the tree.

A second knock spurred Maggie into a sitting position. A wave of nausea flooded her and she waited a moment for it to pass. ‘Coming,’ she called.

She was dressed in her usual bed attire, a pair of men’s silky boxers and a faded old singlet T that didn’t quite meet the waistband. It probably wasn’t the most suitable attire to be greeting anyone in but she felt too rough around the edges to care.

And Nash had seen her in a lot less.

Maggie wasn’t prepared when she opened the door for the impact of him. How had she forgotten, in just twenty-four hours, how he could reduce her to jelly? Even his bleak expression wasn’t enough to dampen the roar of her hormones.

Had she always felt like this or was it just the knowledge that part of him was growing inside her? A purely biological connection left over from primitive man?

‘Hi.’ Maggie grasped the doorknob like it was her anchor as his presence threatened to suck her into an alternate universe.

A prehistoric one. Littered with clubs and caves.

Nash curled his fingers into his palms to stop from reaching for her. She looked so damn good, her sleepy eyes and tousled hair reminding him of myriad early morning wake-ups with her snuggled close, the intoxicating smell of her, of them, rousing him to instant alertness.

He wanted to erase the last twenty-four hours, haul her into his arms and drag her into bed, drag her under him, feel her tightness around him.

He was shocked to realise how much he’d missed her. And how little it had to do with sex. He just missed her.

‘Can I come in?’

Maggie stood aside and he prowled past into the lounge room. His back was to her as he stood in front of the Christmas tree.

‘I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday...for the tree. It’s beautiful. I’m...touched.’

Nash concentrated on a yellow light blinking merrily, gilding the nearby red tinsel. He shrugged. ‘It’s Christmas. Everyone should have a tree.’

‘Even if you live alone?’

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