A Baby For Christmas

And once he found out that Carly was the gold-digging hussy’s daughter his solicitous behavior and gentle concern vanished at once.

Sue, always optimistic, encouraged her daughter to be patient.

‘He doesn’t understand,’ she said softly to Carly more than once. ‘Piran is young, idealistic, and his parents’ divorce hurt him. He hasn’t known love himself. He doesn’t understand how it can happen. Give him time.’

Over the months to come Carly gave him that—and more. Even though, once he knew who she was, he treated her with cool indifference, she couldn’t help remembering the first Piran—the gentle, caring Piran who was really there inside.

She told herself that Sue was right. She saw his dislike as a blind spot, one that time and proximity—and her love—would cure.

Until the night of her eighteenth birthday…when she understood finally just how determinedly blind Piran St Just really was…

She lifted her chin now and faced him once more. ‘Think what you like, Piran. I’m sure you will anyway. I’m not going to argue with you.’

‘Because you haven’t got a leg to stand on.’

‘Try not to insult me too much,’ she suggested mildly, ‘or you’ll be doing this book on your own.’

‘That’s another thing. What’s all this nonsense about you helping with the book?’

‘I’m Sloan Bascombe’s assistant editor.’

‘The hell you say!’ He didn’t seem to believe for a minute that she did in fact work for his editor.

They glared at each other for a full minute. Impasse. There were a myriad emotions crossing Piran’s face. Acceptance wasn’t one of them. Finally Carly nodded once and picked up her duffel.

‘Suit yourself,’ she said, and turned to head back down the road toward town.

She’d gone perhaps twenty yards when Piran called after her. ‘Tell me what Des said.’

She stopped and turned, but she didn’t go back.

Piran stood where she’d left him. They stared at each other now down the length of the narrow rutted lane. His hands were still in his pockets, his jaw was thrust out, but there was a hint of concern—of doubt?—in his expression.

‘I told you what Des said. Am I supposed to assume you believe me now?’

He shrugged irritably. ‘For whatever difference it makes.’

‘None to me,’ Carly said with all the indifference she could manage. ‘Rather a lot to Des, I gather. He was there trying to get an extension so he could go on the trip to Fiji when Diana told him I’d been the one to do the line-editing on your last book.’

‘Sloan did it.’

‘Sloan signed it. I wrote it. He has forty writers. He can’t do everything for everyone. And I know more about archaeology than he does.’ She took considerable satisfaction in telling him that and, at first, she thought he was going to object about that too. But finally he gave a negligent lift of his shoulders.

‘Go on.’

‘You know the rest. As soon as Des found that out, he asked if I’d come and work with you.’

‘And you jumped at the chance?’

‘Hardly.’

‘You’re here,’ Piran pointed out.

‘Not by choice. Diana made it abundantly clear that my job depended on it. Nothing, believe me,’ she added after a moment, ‘to do with you.’

‘Got over your infatuation, did you, Carlota?’ His mouth curved, but his smile was hard, not pleasant. ‘Or maybe it’s like I thought: you weren’t ever really infatuated at all, just money-grubbing like your mother.’

It was all Carly could do not to slap him. Abruptly she turned her back and started walking again. She had reached the main road before she heard footsteps coming after her.

‘Carlota!’

She walked faster. She knew she could let him insult her. It would be good for her, cleanse her, wash away all her childish hopes and dreams. But she wasn’t going to stand there and listen to him insult her mother!

Heaven knew Sue had had her share of faults. But she hadn’t been a bad person. She’d been as idealistic as she’d considered Piran to be. She’d just been far more confused. And foolish. And unlucky—until the last.

Carly was willing to admit all those things. What else could you call a woman who had married seven times in search of the perfect love?

But her mother hadn’t been evil. She hadn’t been conniving.

Never.

But there was no point in telling that to Piran. She had no intention of defending her mother to the likes of Piran St Just! He could go to hell as far as she was concerned. And he could take his book with him.

‘Carlota, damn it! Get back here!’

Carly hurried on. The day was hot and sticky for December. And while she hadn’t felt the heat much in the van, now her shirt stuck to her back. Rivulets of sweat ran down her spine and between her breasts into the waistband of her chambray trousers. She shifted the duffel from one hand to the the other and continued on.

Heavy footsteps pounded after her. She ignored them.

‘Carlota!’

She didn’t turn around. She didn’t falter.

‘Carly, you stubborn witch, stop!’

A hand came out and snagged her arm, hauling her abruptly to a halt. Fingers bit into her skin, holding her fast.

She tried to jerk her arm away, but Piran wouldn’t let go. The pull on her arm was so strong he almost dragged her to the ground. She looked at him closely. He seemed winded. His dark hair clung damply to his forehead. His lean cheeks were flushed, but he was white around the mouth, and he was breathing heavily.

‘Let me go,’ she said again, trying to pry his fingers loose.

His chest heaved. ‘Only if you don’t start walking again.’

She just looked at him, making no promises.

His fingers tightened. She winced. He looked at his hand still biting into her flesh and frowned, but he didn’t let go. ‘We need to talk.’

‘I’m not talking—or listening—to anyone who insults my mother.’

A muscle ticked in his jaw. She could almost see the thoughts flashing across his brain, angry thoughts, disparaging thoughts. But finally Carly felt his fingers loosen reluctantly. His hand dropped and he shoved it once more into the pocket of his canvas trousers. He shrugged almost negligently. ‘Whatever.’

Carly pressed her lips together. She wanted to rub her arm, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

‘So talk,’ she said frostily.

Piran drew a deep breath, as if trying to decide where to start. Finally he lifted his gaze and met hers.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said after a long moment, and she could still bear his disbelief. ‘You just happen to work at Bixby Grissom and you just happened to edit our book?’

‘More or less. As I said, Sloan has a lot on his plate, and since I know more about archaeology than he does he asked me if I would do your last revision letter for him and the last line-editing.’

‘Which he signed.’

‘He’s your editor. I’m not. And Des came to see him, but he was out with the flu.’

‘So Des just jumped at the chance to suggest you come in his place.’

‘I’m sure Des was just there to ask for an extension. But when he saw me a light bulb went off in his head. You know Des and his ideas.’

Piran grimaced. ‘Yeah, I know Des and his ideas. What I don’t know is why you agreed.’

‘I told you—because I like my job. And because I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d have it if I didn’t. It certainly wasn’t because I was ecstatic about seeing you.’

Was that a flush making his cheeks darker? ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said gruffly after a moment.

She waited, the sun beating down on her back, but he didn’t say anything else. He just shut his eyes. His jaw tightened.

‘So,’ Carly said finally, ‘do I stay or leave?’

He sighed, then opened his eyes. ‘Like you I have no choice. What else can I do if we’re going to turn the book in on time?’

‘Des said you had a draft.’

‘Des is ever an optimist.’ His tone was dry. ‘I have a very rough draft—the operative word being “rough”. I was counting on Des to shape it up. He’s supposed to be here,’ he muttered again.

‘Yes, well, he’s not. I’m it. Unless you want to plead with Diana for an extension.’

Piran shook his head. ‘It’s in the schedule. Promo’s being done. You know that as well as I do.’ All at once he muttered, ‘God, it’s hot. I need to sit down.’

And he did, right there at the side of the road, pulling his knees up and dropping his head between them.

Carly stared at him, astonished. Then she bent down to look at him more closely. ‘Are you all right? Piran?’

He didn’t answer. She could only see the shallow rise and fall of his back.

‘Piran, for God’s sake, what’s wrong?’

He lifted his head. His face was white. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ she mocked. ‘You’re just resting?’

‘Just resting,’ he agreed, his voice hollow. Carly could see sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip.

‘You’re sick.’

He shook his head. ‘I had a diving accident a while ago. No big deal.’

As far as Carly could recall from the days when she’d been a part of the St Just family, there was no such thing as a diving accident that was ‘no big deal’.

‘What kind of diving accident?’ And why hadn’t Des told her? Trust Des to stick her with Piran who was ill as well as harsh, fierce and moody.

Piran gave a quick shake of his head and straightened, putting his hands behind him and leaning back, dropping his head back so that now her eyes were drawn to the long column of his throat, the strong jut of his chin and the quick rise and fall of his chest.

‘What kind of accident?’ Carly repeated.

‘Had to come up too fast.’ He sighed. ‘Damn, I hate this.’

‘Then don’t run after people,’ Carly said, taking refuge in gruffness. She wasn’t about to let him think she was concerned.

Piran’s mouth quirked. ‘I’ll try not to.’

‘Why’d you do a stupid thing like that? Come up too fast, I mean.’

‘Cut myself. Lost a lot of blood.’

‘Blood?’ Carly looked at him, aghast.

‘Gashed my leg on some coral. Not a bad wound, but there’re sharks out there sometimes…’

His voice trailed off. He didn’t have to finish; Carly knew exactly what could have happened. She felt sick.

‘There were two of us,’ Piran went on. ‘The other guy wasn’t cut, but he couldn’t stay down either without me. And they only had one decompression unit. He showed more effects, so they put him in.’

‘You could have died!’ The words were wrung from Carly in spite of herself. She couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried.

He slanted her a glance. ‘Wishful thinking, Carlota?’ She glared at him. ‘Sometimes you’re such an ass, Piran.’

He looked at her quizzically. ‘Am I?’

‘Yes,’ she said tersely. ‘Come on.’ She held out a hand to him.

He scowled. ‘I don’t need your help.’

‘Fine. Sit there forever. I don’t care.’ She turned away.

‘Carly!’

When she looked back he was glowering at her. He reached out a grudging hand. She hesitated, then grasped it. And there it was—the jolt she always felt when she touched Piran St Just.

She pulled him to his feet and let go at once.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t mention it.’ She turned away again, but she didn’t start toward the house until he did. Then she fell into step beside him, watching him worriedly out of the corner of her eye, half expecting him to topple over any moment.

‘I’m all right now,’ he said as they reached the veranda. ‘I’m not going to croak on you.’

‘What a relief.’ She waited until he’d climbed the short flight of steps, then she picked up her duffel bag and started into the house.

Piran stopped at the door and turned back to face her. ‘I’ll work with you, but that’s it. You’re not staying here.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You can stay in town.’

‘Des said—’

‘The hell with Des!’

‘Well, fine. You want me to stay in town? I’d be de lighted. But you’re paying for it. Diana certainly isn’t going to give me my expenses for something that’s above and beyond my duties. And I’m not about to pay for them!’ She was so angry that she didn’t give a damn if he still thought she was money-grubbing!

Piran dug in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He peeled off several large-denomination notes and handed them to her.

‘You can take the bicycle. There’s one along the side of the house. Leave your bag here. When you find something, send Ben back out to get your bag.’ He turned away and he probably would have gone right in and shut the door in her face if she hadn’t spoken up.

‘No. Not now.’

‘Wha—?’

‘I’m hot, and I’ve been traveling since dawn. I seem to remember your father once saying that the St Justs were famous for their hospitality. I would like a moment to catch my breath and have a glass of water.’

At the remark about his father Piran turned sharply and shot her a hard glance. Then he grimaced and rubbed his hand against the back of his neck. ‘Oh, hell, all right. Come on.’

CHAPTER TWO

GRACIOUS he was not, but Carly was every bit as tired and hot by that time as she’d said she was, and she was too annoyed to care what Piran’s tone of voice conveyed.

She followed him in.

Nothing inside Blue Moon Cottage had changed at all in the intervening years. The walls were still white and cool. The terrazzo floors gleamed. The white wicker sofa and chairs with their bright blue and green patterned cushions still encouraged her to come and sit a while. The mini-blinds were open to let in the air, but slanted to cut down on the afternoon sun, and the outside vegetation filtered away most of the heat. Overhead a fiveblade fan circled lazily.

It was the only place where Carly had spent any time while she was growing up that she remembered missing after they’d left.

In spite of having to see Piran again, she’d been looking forward to coming back just to see if the charm remained. It did. Though whether that was a good thing or not she wasn’t sure.

‘I know where the kitchen is,’ she said to him. ‘I’ll just get a drink. You can go rest.’ He still looked pale.

He ignored her. ‘I’ll rest when you’re gone.’ He headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ve got iced tea if you’d rather,’ he said over his shoulder, and Carly wondered if he only said it because of her comment about the St Just hospitality.

‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

He nodded, went to the refrigerator, poured her a glass, then poured another for himself. Then he nodded toward the deck on the ocean side of the house. ‘You can drink it here or we can go out there.’

‘My, you are being hospitable,’ she mocked.

Piran’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait and Carly felt faintly guilty for riding him.

She took her glass of tea and went out on to the deck. The view above the trees was of more than a mile of deserted pink sand beach. The first time Carly had seen it, she hadn’t believed it was real. She’d thought Arthur St Just must have had the sand specially dyed and trucked in.

Des had laughed, but Arthur had patiently explained to her about the local corals, about how much time it took for the coral to grind down into the fine, powdery sand, how this sand was pink because that was the color of the coral.

Later that day he’d taken them down to the beach and had even built a sand castle with her and Des and her mother. Piran had come by and looked down his nose at them.

Carly remembered that Arthur had invited his elder son to join them, but Piran hadn’t bothered to answer. He’d walked right past them and never said a word.

He wasn’t saying anything now either. He stood leaning against the railing of the deck, holding his glass of iced tea, not looking at her, staring instead at the expanse of sand and water.

Carly took the opportunity to study him. He’d been twenty-five the last time she’d seen him in person, lean and gloriously handsome, in the prime of young manhood. Full of charm and charisma and promise.

He’d been working on his Ph.D. in archaeology at Harvard during the year, diving with his famous father during the holidays. And when he hadn’t been diving he’d been squiring some of the world’s loveliest women to trendy nightclubs and fast-lane parties.

As far as Carly could see, he’d fulfilled all those promises. He’d got his Ph.D. He was now, at age thirty-four, an internationally acclaimed expert in the field of underwater exploration and recovery of artifacts. He and Des had written three books to date about the family’s escapades.

Or perhaps, Carly amended, Des had written the books. But it was Piran whom one saw on the televised documentaries. And it was Piran who still had all the charm, all the charisma, and all the ladies hanging on his arm.

She knew she wasn’t the first woman to succumb to Piran St Just’s incredible charm. And she hadn’t been the last, either. She’d kept track of the number of beauties who’d been seen with him throughout the years. It hadn’t been difficult.

Piran St Just attracted notice wherever he went. And, as she looked at him now, it wasn’t hard to tell why.

He might be older now, but his thirty-four years sat well on him. The smooth, tanned skin of youth had weathered beautifully. The paleness of his complexion at the moment was simply a result of his illness, nothing to do with the man himself. There was a network of fine lines around his eyes, but they only called attention to their piercing blue. Just as the strong bones of his cheeks and jaw and the grooves that bracketed his mouth gave his face a sort of cragginess that spoke of battles fought and won.

Pity he didn’t have a potbelly or slumping shoulders, Carly thought. He would be easier to ignore if he weren’t so obviously gorgeous.

But from what she could tell the belly beneath the thin cotton T-shirt was rock-hard. And if his shoulders were slumped it was only because of the way he leaned with his forearms resting on the railing as he stared out to sea.

Yes, he’d aged well. Damn the man.

She took another sip of her iced tea.

Piran turned his head to glance at her. ‘Finished?’

Carly looked at him across her barely touched glass. ‘Not quite. Don’t feel you have to entertain me, Piran. Go do whatever it is you were doing before I came. I’ll drink my tea and I’ll go.’

He hesitated, as if he was afraid to leave her alone for fear she might dig in or something. But finally he straightened up. ‘Fine,’ he said shortly. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning at nine and we can go over what I’ve got.’

So saying, he drained his glass, carried it back into the house and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. The door shut with a firm click after him.

Carly breathed far more easily when he was gone. She rubbed her fingers along the soft weathered wood of the railing and rued the dreams she’d once had about making Blue Moon her home—about making Piran St Just love her.

It was hard to imagine she’d been such a naive little fool.

Well, she was a fool no longer. And it was probably just as well she wasn’t going to be living here, given that he still seemed to be able to make her respond to him. She certainly didn’t want him to know it.

The only thing she regretted was not getting to spend the time at Blue Moon. It was every bit as lovely as it had ever been. It might be easy enough to give up her dreams about Piran, but it would be harder to relinquish the ones about Blue Moon.

She finished her tea and put the glass back in the kitchen. Then she let herself out and found the bicycle, wheeled it back to the road and climbed on, avoiding the ruts as she pedaled slowly toward town.

Piran listened until he was sure she was gone. He lay on his bed, cursing his weakened condition and the twist of fate that had brought Carly O’Reilly into his life once more.

Only when he heard the rattle of the bicycle disappear into the distance did he allow his body to sag into the mattress and breathe deeply.

But still, he couldn’t believe it.

God, what could Des have been thinking of?

Well, there was no point in even asking that question.

When had Des ever thought at all? Smart, clever, witty Des somehow never saw what was right under his nose-which was how much Piran hated Carly O’Reilly. And how much he’d once desired her.

It had nothing to do with liking. Never had. Never would. No, that wasn’t true.

In the beginning, the first time he’d seen her, he’d liked her on sight. He’d left his father’s house after the first of several fights he and Arthur had had. He’d been fuming at the way his father seemed like a besotted teenager around his new wife, a wife that Piran thought was far beneath him. And nothing had taken his mind off it until he’d spied a lovely smiling water nymph with waist-length dark hair and long, coltish legs.

He’d watched her swim, then he’d watched her come back up the beach and stretch out on her towel in the sand. She’d lain on her stomach looking up at the cliff and the bench where he sat. She’d fidgeted, looked up, looked away, looked up again.

Piran had watched her, intrigued, running over various lines, trying to decide on the best one to use for meeting her, when she’d got up and started up the beach toward the steps that would bring her up to where he was.

And that was when she’d met the students at the bottom of the steps. He’d watched her smile at them. He’d heard them speak, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. She’d smiled again. Then, as they’d closed around her, he’d momentarily lost sight of her. He’d got to his feet quickly and started down.

He’d been furious to reach them and discover a shy, innocent girl being preyed upon by hooligans. He hadn’t hesitated to step in.

He remembered as if it were yesterday—the drunken shove, the satisfying smack when his fist had connected with the drunk’s jaw, the adoring gray eyes that had looked up into his.

His hands, clenching now, remembered too. They could still feel the petal-softness of her skin as he’d held her briefly in his arms. The same softness they’d felt when she’d reached out her hand to help him up less than an hour ago.

In scant moments he’d become her hero. And he’d wanted to be her hero.

Until he’d found out whose daughter she was.

Then he’d felt as if he too had been duped. Her innocence hadn’t seemed so innocent any longer. Her shyness had seemed calculated.

It had made him furious then because he’d seen it for what it was.

Pure animal magnetism. Sexual chemistry. Hormones. Exactly the same things that had drawn his poor foolish father to Carly’s gorgeous shallow mother.

Piran was damned if he was going to let it happen to him!

And so he’d stayed away as much as he could.

Probably he’d only seen her half a dozen times over the not quite two years of his father’s marriage to Sue. But every time he had Carly had changed. She’d grown more desirable than ever.

Her curves developed. Her eyes sparkled with tantalizing laughter and heady promise. Her lips grew full and tempting, just made to be kissed.

But Piran had refused to kiss them. He wasn’t weak like his father. He knew there was more to a woman than a pretty face.

Ever since he was a tiny child, he’d idolized Arthur St Just, had grown up wanting to be just like him. He’d even taken his father’s side in his parents’ divorce.

In his eyes, Arthur St Just could do no wrong—until he’d met and married, in the space of a few short weeks, the blowsy, beautiful dancer Sue O’Reilly Delgado Gower Tremaine.

God, Piran thought, his fist clenching at his side and pounding on the mattress, even now he could remember the litany of her names!

Carly had told them to him once—recited them, actually, her wide gray eyes watching for his reaction. He’d gritted his teeth then. He gritted them now.

He couldn’t believe his father had fallen for a tramp like Sue—a dancer, for heaven’s sake! A woman with no education, no background, nothing—except a daughter.