‘Obviously not.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Next time, knock.’
There wouldn’t be a next time. ‘Right. Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Of course. Sorry. Again.’
His dark blue gaze glittered. ‘Goodnight, Georgie.’
‘Goodnight.’
* * *
When Georgie woke up the following morning, it was with great reluctance. Not only was she so warm and cosy she didn’t want to leave the cocoon she’d fashioned out of the duvet, but she was also still utterly wiped out.
It had taken her a long while to fall asleep. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about everything that had happened the evening before, starting with the moment Finn’s bouncer had told her to stop and wait. She could scarcely believe any of what had subsequently unfolded was real, yet here she was, safe and warm and no longer wretched and desperate and on her own.
And then there were the dreams she’d had once she had managed to drift off, dreams that seemed to involve her and Finn and what might have happened if, instead of fleeing his room, she’d walked up to him and rid him of his towel. Details of what followed were hazy and the whole idea of it was absurd, of course, but nevertheless, why she should be going there, even subconsciously, was a bit baffling.
As was the fact that light was streaming in through the blinds, which, seeing as how it was January, meant that it must be late.
Too late.
And too quiet.
And then mid-yawn, mid-stretch, it suddenly struck Georgie that she’d woken of her own accord and she froze, panic coursing through her. Why hadn’t Josh woken her as usual?
Something was wrong.
Icy cold and shaking, she threw back the duvet and leapt out of bed. She raced to his cot in the room next door, only to find it empty.
Where was he? Who had taken him? What had Finn done?
Terror gripped every inch of her. Her knees gave way and she had to cling to the rail of the cot to stop crumpling to the floor. Her heart was thundering and she felt as if she’d been cleaved in two. She couldn’t have lost her son, having only just found him. Fate couldn’t be that cruel. But where had he gone? What was she going to do?
And then a burst of sound pierced the fog of alarm and desperation, rooting her to the spot and pricking her ears.
A gurgle. A stream of giggles. A low masculine voice.
Slowly coming out of her daze, Georgie felt reason return and the terror subside. Josh was OK. Everything was all right.
Still trembling, her pulse still racing, she followed the sounds to the glossy kitchen, where she found Josh sitting in a brand-new pristine high chair, with Finn beside him, feeding him. Upon the black granite worktop that looked as if it had never met so much as a chopping board sat plastic bottles and tubs of milk powder, bibs and muslins, tiny plates and cutlery, all the paraphernalia an infant required and lots more besides.
Stunned into immobility, she watched Finn expertly spoon food into Josh’s waiting mouth, with hardly any of it splattering onto the tray or the floor, and to her shame she felt a surge of resentment. Where had all this stuff come from? How did Finn know in less than twenty-four hours what it had taken her months to figure out? She’d found feeding her son unbelievably fraught. She’d been riddled with anxiety and uncertainty, convinced she was somehow going to poison him by getting the proportions wrong. She still was on occasion. Yet Finn made it look so easy. Unfair didn’t begin to describe the situation.
‘Good morning,’ he said, shooting her a dark glance which he then raked over her, his jaw tightening minutely. ‘Did you sleep well?’
Ish... ‘Yes,’ she replied, ignoring his obvious, if unfathomable, objection to her pyjamas. ‘Did you?’
He muttered something non-committal and turned his attention back to Josh. ‘Help yourself to some breakfast.’
She looked in the direction in which he’d nodded, and at the sight of the array of pastries and fruit enticingly arranged on a great silver platter her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. God, it had been a long time since she’d come across anything so appetising. She filled a plate and then took a seat opposite him.
‘How long has Josh been up?’ she asked, pouring herself some coffee and taking a fortifying sip.
‘A couple of hours.’
She frowned. ‘I didn’t hear him.’