‘I’m not leaving her. She could get worse in the night.’ And Patrick had entrusted them to his care.
‘Do you think she will?’
‘I think she might.’ His voice was soft as he looked at the child. ‘She isn’t well, that’s for sure. I checked her breathing again just before she went to sleep and she’s doing all right, but if she gets any worse I’m going to take her in to the department and give her some humidified oxygen.’
‘You don’t think you’re overreacting?’
‘Maybe, but she’s my responsibility and I’m not taking any chances with her.’
‘Why don’t I stay?’ Flushing in response to his astonished glance, she continued. ‘I mean, Patrick has two spare rooms. I can sleep in one of them and if Posy does get worse, you can just sort her out without having to worry about Alfie.’
Daniel wondered whether he needed to remind her of the incident in the shower room earlier. It had been hard to distinguish what had generated the most steam—the hot water or the chemistry between them.
Was she really seriously considering spending the night?
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
Her eyes slid to his and he knew that her mind was in the same place as his. ‘This isn’t about us, Daniel. We have to get past this thing between us.’
‘Any suggestions how?’
She bit her lip. ‘We just ignore it. This is about the children. You might need help in the night.’
Daniel wanted to ask if she had any suggestions as to how he could ignore it. He was so aware of her—so aroused—that his body had reached screaming pitch.
But he could also see the sense of her staying. If Posy’s condition did deteriorate, it would be helpful to have her close.
‘All right. If you’re sure that’s all right with you.’
The connection between them was as powerful as ever. The only thing keeping them apart was a fundamental difference in what they wanted out of life. And the way he was feeling at the moment, that armour felt pretty insubstantial.
And then he had an uncomfortable memory of Stella’s face two years earlier—the devastation in her eyes when he’d told her that he’d made a mistake.
Even though he knew he’d done the right thing and that her pain would have been a million times more agonising if he’d continued with the relationship, Daniel was in no doubt as to how much he’d hurt her.
And he had no intention of repeating his mistake.
He had to keep reminding himself of those differences.
Stella wanted all this. She wanted marriage, kids and all the chaotic ups and downs that went with it. And she deserved it.
‘You must be starving,’ Stella murmured. ‘I’ll go and make some food while you settle her down. Switch the baby alarm on and then we’ll hear her if she starts coughing.’
Chapter Eight
STELLA arranged some cheeses on a plate, added some grapes and walnuts and a basket of bread fresh from the Aga. Then she picked up a bottle of red wine and two glasses and carried the lot into the living room.
The moment she walked in, she knew she’d made a mistake by staying.
Daniel had lit the fire. The lights twinkled on the Christmas tree and the room glowed with warmth, the atmosphere both intimate and festive.
Stella suddenly wished the barn had harsh overhead lighting, but Patrick had gone for ambience and the setting was uncomfortably romantic. She glanced towards Daniel, wondering if he was as aware of her as she was of him.
After his soaking in the shower he’d changed into black jeans and a comfortable checked shirt and he was now sprawled on the sofa, deleting emails with apparent disregard for the contents.
Stella watched him helplessly, feeling the relentless ache of desire, wondering why on earth she’d offered to stay and torture herself. Was she trying to make life as hard as possible? Was she trying to prove something? All she’d proved was that she was a hopeless case when it came to Daniel Buchannan.
Looking at him now, she wondered how she’d ever thought she’d be able to forget a man so unforgettable.