Tina Beckett - Midwives On-Call At Christmas

That hair. He’d wanted to touch it from the moment he’d seen it. It was silky, falling through his fingers easily. But he didn’t want it to fall through. He wanted to catch it—just as he wanted to catch her. So he wrapped it around his fingers, anchoring his hand at the back of her head as the kissing increased.

She pulled back—and for a horrible second he thought she was going to say this was all a terrible mistake. But she didn’t. Bonnie Reid was taking charge.

She moved, lifting the glass from his hand and sitting it on the side table, then, pushing his shoulders back against the sofa, she swung one leg over him, so she was sitting on top of him.

She put her arms around his shoulders again and looked him straight in the eye. ‘There. That’s better.’

‘It certainly is.’ He didn’t hesitate. He pulled her closer, feeling the warm curves of her breasts against his chest. He slid his hands up and under her jumper. Her smooth, silky skin beneath his fingertips. Everything about this felt right.

Her smell. Her taste. Her touch. Her fingers skirted around his neck and shoulders, along the line of his jaw, scratching against his stubble, then through his hair, pulling his lips hard against her own.

His tongue played around the edges of her mouth as their kiss deepened. Suddenly, these clothes were too much; they were stopping him from feeling exactly what he wanted to.

He drew back and pulled his wet jumper and shirt over his head, then pulled her soft jumper off, throwing it on the floor with his own.

Her round full breasts were encased in a cream lace bra. She was breathing heavily now, her body weight on the most sensitive part of him.

He ran his fingers across her shoulder, reaching the pale skin at the bottom of her neck and then down, over her breastbone, between her breasts and down to her navel, resting just above the button of her jeans.

She sucked in her stomach—an automatic reaction but an unnecessary one. He loved every part of her soft curves.

His brain was screaming ‘no’ to him right now. But his body just wasn’t listening.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Bonnie and Freya were in a vulnerable position right now. This was only a temporary arrangement. Jacob Layton didn’t form attachments. Not like this.

But everything about this felt right. Everything about this had been simmering under the surface since his first meeting with Bonnie. Now it was exploding to the surface in volcanic proportions.

For his part, the attraction had just grown. The more he got to know her and Freya, the more he admired her. Her strength, her resilience, her determination to do a good job.

Her empathy with patients, her patience with staff. Her sense of humour, her stubborn streak and the way she answered back. Bonnie Reid was one of a kind.

And he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life.

Bonnie had already experienced one screwed-up partner. The last thing she needed was another. His hands stilled on her back.

Bonnie and Freya deserved a bright future. How could he give them one with his cancer history? That would always, permanently, hang over his head. He knew without asking that Bonnie would want more kids.

And he knew without thinking about it that he already believed the cancer was in his genes. He couldn’t do that to a child. He couldn’t do that to Bonnie and Freya.

‘Jacob? Is everything okay?’ She’d pulled back a little, a frown creasing her brow.

‘Mummy?’ The little voice cut through the emotions in the room.

Jacob froze. Bonnie did the opposite. She let out a little gasp, then flicked around, trying to locate her discarded jumper. She leapt off his lap and pulled the jumper over her head. Freya’s voice hadn’t sounded too close. She must be standing at the top of the stairs.

Jacob looked at his crumpled shirt and jumper, still together, but lying at Bonnie’s feet. ‘Do you want me to come?’

She shook her head quickly as she started towards the door. ‘No, no, it’s fine. Let me deal with Freya.’

His last view was of the bottom he so admired in those jeans. He heard her padding up the stairs in her bare feet. ‘Hi, honey. What’s wrong? Let’s get you back to bed.’ He heard the noise of her sweeping Freya into her arms and the voices faded quickly.

Jacob leaned forwards and put his head in his hands. What was he thinking? How could he have explained to Bonnie why he’d stopped kissing her, without telling her about his diagnosis—the one part of himself he still wanted to remain private?

His stomach twisted. He knew none of this was right. But Jacob didn’t share. It didn’t feel normal to him; it didn’t feel natural. Telling Bonnie about his mother had been the first time in his life he’d ever really shared.

But the cancer diagnosis? No. He didn’t want her to look at him that way. With pity. With sympathy. With the ‘I’m sorry there’s a chance you’ll die’ expression on her face.

He never wanted anyone to look at him like that—let alone Bonnie. He’d only told two colleagues—ones he trusted explicitly—and that was only because he’d had to reduce his patient contact while undergoing his most intense treatments. If he could have got away with telling no one that was exactly what he’d have done.

He sighed and leaned back against the sofa, his bare back coming into contact with the leather surface. It wasn’t comfortable, not against bare skin. Somehow he hadn’t noticed with Bonnie on his lap.

He looked around the room. White, stark walls.

It had looked so much better before.

He could admit that now. He could try and be rational about things. It seemed a little easier now he’d told Bonnie about his mother dying at Christmas.

He winced as he remembered the look of their faces earlier when he’d started to tear the decorations back down. How stupid. How pathetic. How ungrateful.

He stood up and grabbed his shirt and jumper from the floor, walking through to the kitchen and dumping them in the laundry basket. He had a pile of clothes sitting on top of the tumble dryer. He grabbed a T-shirt and walked back through to the hall.

He had to find a way to make things up to Bonnie and Freya. He hated that Freya might be scared of him now. He had to do something to change that.

He pulled open the hall cupboard door and was nearly speared in the face with Christmas tree branch. A single red bauble rolled past his feet. She’d stripped the Christmas tree but obviously kept all the decorations.

He gave a smile of relief. That was where she’d stored them.

He glanced at the empty banister. He might not have got some things right tonight, but if he wanted to make it up to them he knew exactly where to start.

CHAPTER EIGHT

BONNIE RUBBED HER sleep-ridden eyes. She’d had trouble sleeping after last night’s events. Freya had only woken up to go to the toilet and been a little disorientated. Once Bonnie had cuddled her back into bed she’d fallen asleep instantly.

But Bonnie’s head had been spinning. She’d been shocked by Jacob earlier. But she’d also known there had to be a reason behind it. A deep-seated reason. And that was why she’d given him the tiniest bit of leeway.

Now she understood. It didn’t excuse his actions, but she knew exactly how sorry he was—it had been written over every inch of his face. And when he’d shared about his mother she couldn’t help but cry.

Her thoughts immediately went to Freya. She couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to her and Freya being left alone. Who would love her the way she did? Certainly not her father. Something prickled down her spine. If anything ever happened to her, Freya would automatically go to her father. What kind of life would she have with him? The kind of life that Jacob had endured as a child?