Come Fly With Me.... Fiona BrandЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      WHEN CARRIE OPENED her eyes that morning it was to a totally different sight.

      Blue walls and white bed linen.

      The disorientation was over in an instant. She drew in a deep breath. It was strange waking up in someone else’s bed.

      She’d felt like that the first few nights in the apartment upstairs. Then, after a week, she hadn’t even noticed. It just proved to her how much home in London hadn’t really felt like home any more.

      Dan’s place was much more lived-in than hers. But then, he’d spent most of his life here. In amongst the state-of-the-art television and digital sound system, there were tiny ornaments, old picture frames and the odd piece of antique furniture. The little dark wood side table next to the door was her favourite. He hadn’t really said much about how he’d ended up living with his grandmother and she didn’t want to pry.

      Just as she didn’t want him to pry too much, either.

      An unconscious smile crept across her face. He’d kissed her.

      And she’d kissed him back.

      Her first kiss since...

      And it felt nice. It felt good.

      Actually it felt a lot more than all that. Nice and good made it sound like a safe kiss. A kiss that was taking her on the road to recovery.

      But Dan’s kiss had ignited a whole lot more than that in her. She almost couldn’t sleep last night when they’d parted. It was amazing how long you could lie staring up at the ceiling while your brain was on a spin cycle.

      She looked around the room. A pair of his boots were on the floor, along with a pair of jeans slung across a chair. She could almost still see the shape of his body in those jeans. And it sent another lot of little pulses skittering across her skin.

      Dan had decided to do the night shift last night. She was almost sure another two slices of her chocolate cake had been the appropriate bribe for him to spend the night on his lumpy sofa.

      Abraham. He appeared in her thoughts like a flash and she sat upright in bed.

      She hadn’t heard him. She hadn’t heard him at all.

      A chill spread across her body instantly, reaching straight down into the pit of her stomach. Sending its icy tendrils around her heart.

      No. Surely not.

      She was up and out of the bedroom before her feet even felt as if they’d touched the wooden floor. Her steps across the floor the quickest she’d ever moved. Her breath caught in her throat and she leaned over the crib.

      Empty. It was empty.

      She spun around. ‘Dan—’ And stopped dead.

      Dan was upright on the sofa, fast asleep with Abraham tucked against his shoulder. She’d obviously missed quite a bit last night. Why hadn’t he woken her up? More importantly, why hadn’t she heard?

      In her haste across the room she hadn’t even looked over at his slumped frame. She’d been so focused on Abraham. So focused on the baby.

      Dan’s eyes flickered open and he lifted his hand covered in the cast to rub his sleep-ridden eyes. ‘Wake my baby and I’ll kill you,’ he growled, echoing her words from the day before.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped. ‘I just woke up and realised I hadn’t heard him all night. I thought something was wrong. Then he wasn’t in the crib and I—’ She stopped to draw breath, conscious of the look on Dan’s face. ‘What? What is it?’

      The coldness of the wooden floor was starting to seep through her toes and up her legs, making goosebumps erupt on her skin—her woefully exposed skin.

      ‘Oh!’ She lifted her arms across her breasts. Some body reactions weren’t for public view.

      Dan had been right about her other nightwear. Her tiny satin nightie covered her bum and not much more. Last night she’d been wearing her dressing gown—her eternal protection—and hadn’t removed it until she’d climbed into bed. The power had come back on and the temperature in the apartment was warmer than usual, both having agreed that due to the lack of appropriate clothing for Abraham they needed to raise the temperature slightly. So she couldn’t have bundled up in her usual fleece pyjamas—not without melting completely—and Dan would never see her in her nightie anyway, would he? Until now.

      The cold floor had the ultimate effect on her body. Her nipples were firmly pressed into the sides of her arms across her chest. They had obviously been the feature that had caught his attention.

      ‘Give me a second,’ she blurted as she made a run for the bedroom and the sanctity of her dressing gown. Too late she realised how much her slight nightie must have flapped around her behind, leaving little to the imagination.

      She emerged a few minutes later, trying not to look completely flustered.

      ‘I’ll make breakfast this morning,’ she said brightly. ‘It was American yesterday—you made pancakes. So I think it will be tea, toast and marmalade this morning.’

      Dan couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, even though she was trying desperately to change the earlier subject. He shook his head. ‘I sense distraction techniques, Carrie McKenzie. But since I’m a gentleman with an empty stomach I’ll let it go. As for toast and marmalade? No, you don’t. You sabotaged the pancakes with your butter and jam. And don’t even think about making me tea after the night I’ve had. I need coffee. With at least three shots.’

      Guilt surged through her and she sat down next to him. She was safe now; she was completely covered. ‘Was Abraham really bad last night? I’m so sorry. I never heard a thing.’

      ‘I noticed.’ He shook his head and gave her a weary smile. ‘If I’d needed you, Carrie, I would have woken you up. But it was fine.’ He paused. ‘Well, actually, it wasn’t fine, but I closed the door so you wouldn’t hear. I figured this was hard enough for you and a night with no sleep wouldn’t help.’

      She was stunned.

      It was no secret she hadn’t managed to hide things from Dan. He’d already asked her on more than one occasion what was wrong and she hadn’t responded. Because she didn’t feel ready to.

      It had only been a few days. And she didn’t know him that well—not really. But Dan had taken actions last night to make sure she had some respite. He was reading her better than she could have ever thought. Was it the cop instincts? Did he just know when to push and when to back off?

      Did they even teach things like that in cop school? Or was he just good at reading her? At sensing when things were tough and she needed to step back. She wasn’t ready to share. Or was she?

      Her friends back home all knew about the stillbirth. And they either tiptoed around her or tried to make her talk. Neither way worked for her.

      She needed to talk when she was ready. Not when they were ready.

      Maybe it would be easier to share with someone from outside her circle of friends. Someone who could be impartial and not try to hit her with a whole host of advice about what to do and how she should feel.

      Dan was the first guy to cause her stomach to flutter in a whole year. She’d thought that part of her had died. And nothing would cause it to wake up again. But the close proximity was definitely a factor. How much of