Kristof beat her to it, pulling away and picking up their plates to take them to the sink. ‘It’s getting late. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I think we should postpone further discussions until then. Go out for breakfast at the market and start making some plans.’
He expected her to stay when she hadn’t agreed to. ‘What time shall I meet you there?’
‘Don’t do that,’ he growled. ‘You’re pushing me away.’
Was she pushing him away? If standing up for herself and showing she wouldn’t be told what to do meant that then, yes, she was. ‘I’m looking out for myself.’
‘I get it, but staying here isn’t going to prevent you doing that, and it makes sense not to go home on a train loaded with drunks and who knows what else. You’d only have to return in a few hours, hours that could be spent catching up on sleep you so desperately need if those shadows darkening your cheeks are any indication.’
‘Fine. I’ll stay.’ What else could she say when her blood was humming with gratitude and something she’d rather not identify? Her head was nodding with fatigue and her legs really didn’t have the strength to walk to the nearest station. ‘Which bedroom shall I use?’
‘Mine. It’s got a bathroom within dashing distance.’ His smile was strained, as if reality was finally catching up in a hurry.
All she could hope for was that she didn’t wake up on the front step with a note attached telling her to go away, that he wasn’t interested in becoming a parent. But he wouldn’t. She trusted him. If that made her an idiot, then sorry, but once she’d allowed him in it seemed there wasn’t any way he was leaving. ‘Goodnight, Kristof.’
He had his phone out. Finding out how his patient was? Or was there a significant other person in his life? She’d never asked, believing he wouldn’t have had that fling if there was. ‘Goodnight, Alesha.’
‘Is there someone special in your life you have to tell about the baby?’ She couldn’t help the squeak that accompanied her question, the need to hear him say no suddenly important.
‘I’m single, without anyone regular in my life. In fact you’ve been the only woman I’ve been intimate with in months.’
Good. She wouldn’t ask why. That’d be pushing too hard. ‘Goodnight, Kristof.’ She headed down the hall, a spring in her heavy footsteps.
They were definitely like two people who’d had a hot fling and moved on to become—what?—friends with a baby on the way? Friends was good, but nowhere near enough. Though until they’d worked their way through the issues surrounding baby then it could be that friendship was the way to go. Also, far better than fighting one another every step.
Down, disappointment, down.
This was what she’d come for, before she’d realised she loved the man.
Slipping out of her blouse and skirt, Alesha slid under the sheet in her underwear. It probably wasn’t wise but it was all she had, and anyway she was as well dressed as the night she’d first met Kristof. Since then he’d seen it all. Smiling, she closed her eyes and instantly fell into a deep sleep where dreams of what they’d done together, followed by other dreams of what they could do next, skidded through her night.
* * *
Kristof stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching the gentle rise and fall of the sheet covering Alesha’s breasts. He wasn’t leering or even thinking sexy thoughts. No, his head was full of images of her holding their baby, of crooning to a crying little one, of kissing his or her forehead and pressing him or her to her swollen breast for milk. Don’t ask him how, but he believed she was going to make an excellent mother.
As for him? An excellent father? Yes, he could be, would be, as long as he didn’t get it all wrong. The child had better be strong, and depend more on his—or her—mother than him. Just in case Kristof made poor judgements and hurt them all. He’d misread his father, and blamed his mother for leaving them when she’d been struggling with Dad’s infidelities. If only he’d known about those before he’d shouted at her, ‘If you leave I never want to see you again.’ He’d believed his father to be nigh on perfect, had never once considered the man he tried to emulate might be the one transgressing the marriage boundaries. Not that he’d been able to picture his mother having an affair either. His mother had been quick to brush away his apologies when he’d learned about the mistresses but it had been too late. He’d said those awful words and there was no taking them back. She’d returned to her home town of Dubrovnik before his father had died, and he’d missed her so much, but male pride had got in the way and kept him firmly in London, until he’d finally gone to apologise, and they’d slowly started to rebuild their relationship.
Then there was his marriage. Cally had wanted for ever with him, just not only him.
He’d never hurt a woman like that, or his child, but he’d also never risk his heart again.
One week was all it had taken to turn his world around, to change his direction for ever. Was he happy about it? Honestly? No. But there was no undoing what had happened. Alesha certainly had found the right man to accidentally get pregnant with. He’d stick by her throughout and beyond, as a friend, as the father of her child.
Kristof spun away to head to his TV room. A mindless programme would help quieten the questions and let him relax enough to fall asleep. The answers were there, under lock and key, waiting for a time he was able to look at them. He wanted to believe he’d get this right. He really, really did.
Because if he was lucky enough for his child to adore him he didn’t want to crack his son’s world wide open to disbelief and pain; to the acknowledgment his father had made a mockery of everything he’d been raised to believe.
As his father had done. Had his dad gone and died quietly and with dignity? Hell, no. A massive heart attack while in his mistress’s bed had been the final chapter in what had turned out to be a double life right from the day he’d married Kristof’s mother and been unfaithful with the bridesmaid.
At least according to the gossip and stories at the funeral and for months afterwards.
TV wasn’t distracting him.
A brandy might. But he had to be ready to return to the hospital if called.
So checking out the property market in central London was an option.
Alesha didn’t want to live in the city with her baby.
There had to be give and take. Alesha had to understand he wanted to be near but that he couldn’t live too far from the hospital.
Another option would be to keep this apartment and buy a larger house where she wanted and go stay there at the weekends.
Just like your father.
He wasn’t having a mistress in the city and Alesha waiting for him somewhere else. That wasn’t the idea. Anyway, he and Alesha weren’t a couple.
Just as well he wasn’t on call tomorrow. He’d be next to useless.
* * *
A light knock on the bedroom door warned Alesha she was no longer alone. ‘Hello?’
‘Will a cup of tea make waking up easier?’ Kristof stood in the doorway, that thick dark-blond hair with a very slept-in look and a line of stubble highlighting his jawline.
Her tongue roved over her lips at the gorgeous sight. Until her stomach warned her there were more important considerations right now. Gulp. ‘Excuse me.’ The bathroom door slammed behind her. This was not something she wanted to share with Kristof. That was going too far. She preferred he remembered her looking half decent at least.
The man didn’t take the hint. Or was too thick to understand. The door opened and he was there, holding her hair away from her face, rubbing her back, and, when it was over, handing her a warm, moist face cloth.
While her stomach cringed at Kristof seeing her like this, there was no denying the tenderness flowing through her at his kindness and concern.
‘Here.’ He held out a thick white robe. ‘Far too large, I know, but you look cold.’
Dressed in bra and knickers, she certainly wasn’t overdressed. ‘Thanks.’ The soft fabric smelt of Kristof as she snuggled into the garment. She blinked rapidly to banish the sudden tears. All these tears. Pregnancy seemed to mess with her hormones quite a bit.
But when was the last time anyone had done something so ordinary and yet so endearing for her? No answer came to mind, unless she went back to when she was seven and her mother cuddled her after falling off a horse. Mum.
Don’t go there.
But what would her mother say about the baby?
Forget it.
Her parents had had no time for her after Ryan got sick; they weren’t going to find any for a grandchild. Especially since they were on the other side of the world. Her heart sank. It was so unfair. She was used to the abandoned feeling she’d known from the day her brother was diagnosed with acute leukaemia catching at her in unexpected moments, but it never got any easier. The sense that her parents should want to see her, talk to her, know what she was up to would not go away permanently. Sometimes that made her angry, mostly it made her sad.