Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery Read online

  And he wasn’t going to let her leave.

  ‘You didn’t advertise for a housekeeper.’

  ‘I would have done if I’d thought of it.’ He pressed her up against the door, his mouth only a breath away from hers, ‘I know you’re angry with me. I know I’ve upset you. But that doesn’t change what happened. There was nothing false about the night we spent together. Nothing.’ He saw her breathing quicken, saw her gaze flicker briefly to his as the charge between them heated to dangerous levels. And then she looked away, as if it was the only way she could keep her sanity.

  ‘As you keep telling me, it was a one-night stand.’ Her eyes were fixed on one of Posy’s childish drawings, haphazardly stuck to the kitchen wall. ‘I should have left it at that.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

  She looked at him cautiously. ‘I’ve never had a one-night stand before.’

  ‘I know. I could tell.’ Seeing her eyes widen, he gave a faint smile. ‘That was why you ran off in the morning—you were embarrassed. And panicking. And thinking, What have I done? I wish I’d woken up. I would have stopped you.’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention your children, Patrick?’ Even though they were alone in the room, she whispered the words. ‘It isn’t as if you didn’t have the chance. We had dinner together. We talked.’

  The chemistry between them was so intense he could taste it. ‘Because for one night of my life I wasn’t someone’s father, or someone’s doctor, or someone’s boss,’ Patrick said huskily. ‘I was a man, enjoying the company of a beautiful woman. It was about you and me, Hayley. Nothing else. No one else. And now it’s my turn. If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?’ He slid his hand behind her head, his eyes locked with hers.

  ‘What?’

  He gave a slow smile. ‘Can you really cook a turkey?’

  She stared up at him and then gave a reluctant laugh. ‘That’s what you want to ask me? Can I cook a turkey?’

  ‘It’s very important to me,’ Patrick murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth. ‘You have no idea how appalling untalented I am in the kitchen.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re good in other rooms of the house.’ Although her tone was mocking, the humour was back in her eyes.

  ‘But that isn’t going to help cook a turkey—unless we use a hairdryer. Stay, Hayley.’

  She laughed but then gave a little shake of her head. ‘I can’t. We both know that would not be a good idea.’ But he sensed her indecision and jumped on it with ruthless determination.

  ‘If you’d ever tasted my Christmas dinner, you’d know it’s an excellent idea.’

  ‘I’m talking about the rest of it. I came here looking for the man I spent that night with but…’she took a breath ‘…you’re not that man, Patrick. You have children. Responsibilities.’

  Her opinion of him had clearly plummeted and he couldn’t blame her for that. So far he’d made a mess of their meeting. ‘I won’t hurt my children, Hayley, that’s true. They’ve been through enough because of me.’

  ‘And that’s a good enough reason for me not to stay, Patrick. It would be unfair on them. You obviously don’t want them to know about us and I understand that.’

  ‘This house has five large bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. You’d have space and privacy, somewhere warm and cosy to spend Christmas. A large tree and a log fire. Isn’t that what you wanted?’ It hadn’t escaped him that she’d taken a job with a family. ‘Alfie is so excited about you being here. He thinks Christmas lunch might be edible for once.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Please, Hayley.’ His voice was smooth and persuasive. ‘I know I’ve made a mess of this and I know I’ve upset you. Yes, I was shocked to see you at first but…I really want you to stay. No strings. My son put an advert in the paper and you accepted the job. The job is yours. No more, no less. As for the rest of it, well…’ He was standing so close to her that he could smell the floral fragrance of her shampoo mingling with the rose of her perfume. His senses communicated her scent to his libido and he was just deciding whether his previous warning counted when the door moved.

  Reacting quickly, Patrick shifted Hayley out of range and stepped back just as Alfie came charging into the kitchen, almost knocking into both of them.

  ‘Dad, Posy’s had an accident and the delivery van from the supermarket is at the door.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  HAYLEY held a packet of frozen peas against the little girl’s leg, watching as Patrick soothed the child.

  He was calm and concerned, his fingers gentle as he checked the joint. ‘She’s all right, Alfie—no permanent damage.’

  Alfie was hovering anxiously. ‘She banged herself really hard, Dad.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll have a bruise, but nothing more.’

  Hayley wondered whether she should borrow the frozen peas for her own bruises. Not the external ones—those would heal by themselves—but the internal ones. The ones caused by the realisation that their steamy night had been nothing more than sex for him.

  It hadn’t been a romantic encounter.

  It hadn’t been special, or earth-shattering.

  It had simply been an opportunity for him to do what any red-blooded male would do in the same circumstances.

  What had he said?

  For one night I was a man, not a father.

  But now he was a father again. And you didn’t need a degree in psychology to see that his role as a parent was his first priority.

  Hayley was trying really hard to hate him but it was impossible. How did you hate a man who clearly cared for his children so much? She found herself wondering exactly what had happened with his wife. If she were lucky enough to be married to a man like Patrick, she would have found a way to make the marriage work.

  ‘How’s that leg, Posy?’ He stroked his daughter’s hair gently and she buried her face in his chest.

  ‘Uncle Daniel fix it.’

  Patrick gave an amused smile. ‘There isn’t anything for him to fix. You’ll be fine.’ Catching Hayley’s questioning look, he offered an explanation. ‘My twin brother is a consultant in the accident and emergency department.’

  ‘You have a twin? Identical?’

  ‘We look similar but that’s where the resemblance ends.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Alfie dived in. ‘You both have big muscles. And you were both in the mountain rescue team.’

  Patrick shifted Posy slightly. ‘That’s right. We were.’

  ‘You could still do it.’ Alfie picked up Posy’s velvet comforter and sneaked it into his sister’s hand. ‘We wouldn’t mind, would we, Pose? We’d be OK here. I’m almost old enough to look after you.’

  Posy grinned at her brother but showed no sign of relinquishing her grip on her dad. There was something about the sight of the young child clinging to her father that brought a lump to Hayley’s throat.

  Oh, great.

  She was going to embarrass herself yet again.

  And just because the guy was patient and kind to his daughter. Really, she needed to get out more.

  So he was good with kids—so what?

  Plenty of men were good with kids.

  It was just that Patrick managed to do it in a way that didn’t diminish his masculinity. His hands were firm. Sure. He had a quiet confidence that soothed the child as much as his calm voice.

  ‘I can imagine you in the mountain rescue team,’ Hayley muttered, and then wished she hadn’t when he lifted an eyebrow in question. ‘I mean, you just look the outdoor type,’ she said lamely. ‘What exactly do you do? You go out into the mountains and find people?’ And slide down ropes, and save lives and generally behave like a hero.

  Nothing particularly attractive about that, she told herself firmly. He was just doing a job.

  ‘People often find themselves in trouble in the fells.’

  ‘Fells?’

  ‘In the Lake District we call the mountains fells.’ He checked Posy’s knee again.
‘People often underestimate the peaks here. They go out wearing the wrong footgear and with the wrong equipment. And that makes plenty of work for the mountain rescue team. I did it for a few years—my brother still does it. He doesn’t have kids so he can take off at short notice and come back eight hours later without having to worry.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  His eyes narrowed, as if he hadn’t asked himself that question. ‘No.’ His gaze slid to Alfie and Hayley sensed that he was protecting his son’s feelings.

  Being a single dad had obviously demanded some big sacrifices.

  He’d given up something he loved so that he could spend more time with his children.

  Her cheeks pink, Hayley looked away from him, telling herself that he wasn’t that attractive. All right, so he could kiss, but just because he had a particular skill in that area, it didn’t make him a good person.

  There was certainly no reason for her stomach to feel as though it had been left on the fast spin cycle of the washing machine.

  ‘Dad, is there any chocolate in those shopping bags?’ Alfie was looking hopefully at the supermarket bags that had been heaped by the door ready to be unpacked. ‘Did you order something to go on the Christmas tree?’

  ‘Let’s go and take a look.’ Patrick tried to ease the little girl off his lap but she clung to him, her thumb in her mouth, her fist locked in his thick jumper. ‘Sweetheart, Daddy has to spend some time in the kitchen or Christmas isn’t going to happen.’ He bent his head and kissed his daughter’s blonde head, the contrast between strong and vulnerable so vivid that Hayley sighed. Just the sight of Posy’s sweet red stockings against the hard muscle of his thighs was enough to make her tummy tumble.

  Oh, help, she didn’t want to feel this way.

  This man was no saint.

  He’d had sex with her. He hadn’t told her he had children.

  ‘I’ll sort out the shopping.’ Desperate to look at something other than his unshaven jaw and the tempting line of his lips, Hayley scrambled to her feet, the peas still in her hand. ‘Have you finished with these?’

  His gaze searching, Patrick nodded. ‘Yes. Her leg is fine. But I don’t expect you to unload the shopping, Hayley.’

  ‘It’s fine. Really.’ Decisions, decisions. She really hated making decisions and she was going to have to make one now. Stay or go. Stay or go. Go, obviously. After what had happened, it would be just too embarrassing to stay here, wouldn’t it?

  On the other hand, where was she going to go, this late on Christmas Eve?

  It would be more sensible to stay. More practical. The last thing she needed was to find herself with nowhere to go. Yes, she’d stay. But not because of Patrick. Her decision had nothing to do with the fact that this man knew how to turn a woman from a solid to a liquid.

  She gave a careless shrug, hoping that she looked suitably casual. ‘You haven’t given me a job description, but I presume that unloading shopping is the responsibility of the housekeeper.’

  Alfie gave a squeal of delight. ‘You’re staying? Yay! We’ll have a proper Christmas lunch.’ He leapt over to the bags and hugged Hayley, and she hugged him back, a lump in her throat. Over the top of his head, she met Patrick’s steady gaze.

  ‘You’re staying?’

  ‘Yes.’ She gave an awkward shrug. ‘And let’s just hope it doesn’t prove to be the second biggest mistake of my life.’

  ‘The first one being?’

  Hayley gave him a meaningful look and guided Alfie towards the bags. ‘Come and show me where everything goes, Alfie.’ She needed to keep busy to stop her brain from working overtime. So far it hadn’t done a good job. Her over-active mind had taken her down routes that had brought her nothing but embarrassment.

  Next time she saw a happy ending on the horizon she was going to reprogramme her internal sat nav.

  ‘There’s chocolate in those bags.’ Alfie bounded over the bags with all the energy of an over-excited puppy. ‘When do we put the turkey in the oven?’

  ‘Not until the morning.’ Hayley smiled at him. ‘Actually, I think you can cook it overnight in the Aga, but we’re not going to do that. We’ll cook it tomorrow.’

  As she unloaded bags and found her way around Patrick’s state-of-the-art kitchen, Hayley couldn’t help wondering if she’d done the wrong thing by staying.

  Patrick knew exactly how she felt about him—how could he not? She’d crossed an ocean to find him. Cringing with embarrassment, she put a net of sprouts on the table ready to be prepared. Patrick, on the other hand, had given away nothing.

  Frowning slightly, Hayley tipped a container of fresh cranberries into a pan and reached for an orange.

  What had he told her about himself?

  Precisely nothing.

  The only information she had about him was the obvious stuff—like his two children.

  He had told her he was divorced, but he hadn’t told her anything else, had he?

  She added the zest and juice of an orange to the simmering cranberries.

  He hadn’t told her why his relationship had fallen apart. He hadn’t told her why his wife wasn’t spending Christmas with them.

  Leaving the cranberries to simmer, she dug around in the fridge, searching for the ingredients for stuffing, her heart rate doubling as Patrick walked into the kitchen, Posy in his arms. ‘Do you have any pork?’

  Patrick looked at her blankly and sat Posy on the nearest chair. ‘Pork? As in a joint of pork? I thought we were having turkey.’

  ‘I need pork for the stuffing,’ Hayley said patiently, and Patrick gave a lopsided smile.

  ‘I’m lucky if I can get the thing in the oven, let alone stuff it.’

  ‘It just helps the flavour. Don’t worry,’ Hayley muttered, ‘I’ll see what you have in your fridge.’ She returned to the fridge, found some sausages and parsley and helped herself to an egg. ‘This will do. I don’t suppose you have any chestnuts?’

  ‘I think there’s a box in the larder, but they’re probably past their sell-by date.’ He produced them and Hayley checked the date and emptied them onto her chopping board.

  ‘They’re fine. Alfie, can you pass me an apple from the bowl?’

  ‘I don’t like apples.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust and she smiled.

  ‘It’s going in our stuffing. You won’t taste it.’ As she chopped, stirred and cooked, Alfie buzzed around her, helping.

  ‘What’s that you’re doing now?’

  ‘Bread sauce.’ She infused the milk with an onion and cloves. ‘It’s delicious. If I do it now, it will be one less thing to worry about tomorrow.’

  Alfie was watching, wide-eyed with admiration. ‘Who taught you how to do all this stuff?’

  ‘I taught myself. I had to. No one else in my family can cook.’ She took the milk off the heat. ‘Well, they probably could cook if they tried. Everyone can cook if they try.’

  ‘My dad can’t.’ Alfie stood on a chair, slowly stirring cranberry sauce, his lower lip locked between his teeth. ‘And he has tried. His cooking is a disaster.’

  ‘Thanks Alfie,’ Patrick said dryly, and Alfie shrugged.

  ‘Even your pasta is gluey.’

  ‘You’re not cooking it in enough water,’ Hayley said absently. ‘You need a large pan so that it doesn’t stick together. That looks done, Alfie. Take the saucepan off the heat and put it on the mat to cool. Good boy.’

  ‘This is so brilliant. Like being in a restaurant or something.’ Alfie lifted the pan carefully and put it on the table. ‘Now what?’

  ‘We let it cool and then we put it in the fridge.’

  Alfie watched, wide-eyed, as she deftly made little stuffing balls. ‘Wow. You are so clever at that. If you’re here with us, who is cooking Christmas dinner for your family?’

  Hopefully someone really inept.

  Hayley gave a weak smile. ‘They’ll probably go to a hotel to eat.’

  ‘I bet they miss you.’

  Feeling Patrick’s gaze on he
r face, Hayley tried not to reveal her thoughts. He saw too much.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure they miss me.’ Like lions missing an antelope. No one to pick on.

  Patrick leaned forward and pulled the pan further onto the mat, avoiding disaster. ‘You have brothers and sisters?’

  ‘Two stepbrothers. One stepsister.’ She kept her tone neutral but knew he wasn’t fooled.

  ‘You lived with a stepfamily?’

  Oh, God, he wasn’t going to let it go, was he? ‘My dad left when I was little. My mum married her boss. He already had three children. End of story.’ Except it wasn’t the end of the story and she had a feeling he knew it.

  ‘My mum left, too.’ Alfie said the words casually but Hayley sensed the depth of emotion behind his simple confession and felt as though her heart was being tugged out of her chest.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Patrick still, but Alfie was looking at her and she knew he was waiting for her to respond.

  Suddenly she wished she’d done a degree in child psychology—at least then she would have known just the right thing to say. ‘That must have been very difficult for you.’

  ‘It was sort of difficult.’ Alfie gave an awkward shrug. ‘She went on Christmas Eve. Two years ago.’

  ‘Christmas Eve?’ Horrified, Hayley’s eyes flew to Patrick but he was watching his son.

  ‘We’re doing pretty well, aren’t we, Alfie?’

  ‘Brilliantly. We’re a team. Team Buchannan, that’s us. High five, Dad.’ Slapping his palm against his father’s, Alfie slid off the chair and walked over to the fridge. ‘The only thing wrong is that no one in our team is good at cooking. Sometimes Stella helps us, and that’s good. She can make gingerbread men. Can you make gingerbread men, Hayley?’

  Still choked at the thought that their mother had left on Christmas Eve, Hayley struggled to answer. ‘Yes,’ she said huskily, feeling a rush of anger towards a woman she didn’t even know. ‘I can make gingerbread men. Who is Stella?’

  Patrick stirred. ‘A friend.’

  Friend? Hayley felt a stab of jealousy and then realised how ridiculous it was to feel jealous of this man. They didn’t have a relationship, did they?