A Baby for Christmas Read online

  Carly wasn’t sure at all, but she didn’t see that she had any option. Diana had made herself perfectly clear: when Carly next appeared in the office, she was going to be carrying Piran and Desmond St Just’s next bestselling true-life archaeological adventure. Or else.

  But she wasn’t going to be doing that unless she helped Piran finish it. There was certainly no way she could find Des now and make him take her place.

  Besides, she thought irritably, how dared Piran make her seem like some sort of unwanted interloper?

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said.

  Ben shrugged. ‘It be your neck, missy.’

  Undoubtedly it would. Carly took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  Ben gave a quick salute and put the van in reverse.

  Piran started down the steps. ‘Ben! Where the hell are you going? Get back here! Ben! Ben!’

  But Ben apparently knew that absence was the better part of valor—at the moment at least. The van putted away down the gravel and disappeared around the bend.

  It was a full minute before Piran turned from staring after it to fix his gaze on Carly.

  ‘Well, some things never change, do they, Carlota?’ he drawled at last, looking her up and down.

  Carly met his gaze levelly. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You’re still a conniving little bitch.’

  So the battle lines were drawn. It certainly hadn’t taken long. If he’d slapped her face with a glove, he could not have challenged her more clearly. Nor could he have found a better means of making Carly dig her heels in.

  For a single instant, before he called her that…that-she couldn’t even let herself think about what he’d called her!—she’d almost felt sorry for Piran St Just. She’d almost regretted that his brother had deserted him, regretted that he’d have to make do with her help, not Des’s.

  But when he threw those words at her she thought, Serves him right, damned judgmental jerk.

  She supposed she was a bit of a jerk, too, for having thought even for one moment that they could manage this without problems, that he might have changed his opinion of her.

  Once—in the very beginning—he’d defended her. It had been the first time they met and she hadn’t even known who he was.

  It had happened a month after Carly’s mother had married Piran’s father in Santa Barbara. She’d met Des at the wedding, but she’d never met Arthur’s much heralded elder son. Piran hadn’t come to the ceremony, Arthur had said, because he went to university in the east.

  But he was coming for spring vacation. Carly was going to meet him that very night. In fact, if she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late.

  She’d waited to leave the beach until the last possible moment, hoping that the small group of inebriated college students standing by the steps up the cliff would disperse. They hadn’t. Instead they’d stood watching her approach, whistling and making lewd suggestions that made her cheeks burn.

  She’d tried to ignore them, then she’d tried brushing past them and going up the steps quickly. But she’d stumbled and one of them had grabbed her and hauled her hard against him.

  ‘Please,’ she babbled. ‘Let me go.’

  He rubbed against her. ‘Let’s go together, baby,’ he rasped in her ear.

  Carly struggled. ‘Stop it! Leave me alone!’

  He shook his head. ‘You want it. You know you do,’ he said as she tried to pull away.

  A couple of the other men hooted and whistled. ‘I like ‘em feisty,’ one of them called.

  ‘Please!’ Carly tried twisting away from him, but he held her fast until all at once, out of nowhere, a savior appeared.

  The most handsome young man she’d ever seen jerked the drunken man away from her. ‘Can’t you hear?’ he snarled. ‘The lady said she wants to be left alone.’

  ‘Lady? Who says she’s a lady?’

  Carly’s black-haired savior stepped between her and the drunken student. ‘I say so,’ he said, his voice low and deadly.

  The student gave a nervous, half-belligerent laugh. ‘An’ who are you? The Lone Ranger?’ He shoved Piran hard, so hard that he wobbled himself.

  The next thing Carly knew the man was flat on his rear in the sand with her savior standing over him, rubbing his right fist.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who I am,’ he said. ‘Apologize to the lady. Now.’

  The man’s jaw worked. He spat blood on to the sand and glanced around at his friends. They fidgeted and muttered, but they apparently didn’t see much point in fighting over Carly. Some of them backed up the steps. A few moved away down the beach. At last it was just Carly and the two of them left.

  Finally the student struggled to his feet and glowered at the lean, tanned man still standing there, his fists clenched.

  He didn’t move an inch. ‘Say it.’

  The drunken student’s gaze flicked briefly to Carly. He scowled. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered in a surly tone. Then he fled.

  Carly stared after him, shaking, still feeling the disgusting feel of his sweaty, sandy body pressed against hers.

  ‘Hey, you OK?’ The young man tilted his head to look into her eyes. He gave her a gentle smile. He had the most beautiful blue eyes and the most wonderful smile she’d ever seen.

  ‘F-fine,’ she’d mumbled.

  ‘It’s over,’ he said, and put his arm around her, drawing her close, holding her gently until she’d stopped shaking.

  It should have frightened her. He was as much a stranger as the drunken student. But she wasn’t frightened. She felt safe. Cared for.

  She remembered looking up into his face right at that moment and thinking she’d found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with—the man her mother had always told her was out there waiting.

  She stammered, ‘Th—thanks.’

  He smiled at her and ran his knuckles lightly down her cheek. ‘My pleasure. Always ready to help out a damsel in distress.’ He gave her a wink, then asked if he could see her home.

  And that was when he found out whose daughter she was.

  ‘You live where?’ he asked her when she pointed out the house on the hillside.

  ‘The pink house. The great big one. Isn’t it lovely? We just moved in, my mother and I. She married a professor—’

  ‘Arthur St Just.’ His voice was suddenly clipped and short.

  ‘Yes. You know him?’

  ‘I thought I did,’ her savior said gruffly. ‘He’s my father. I’m Piran St Just.’

  Her new stepbrother. The one she’d never met. The one, she quickly learned, who hadn’t come to the wedding not simply because he went to school in the east but because he objected so strongly to his father’s remarriage.

  He thought Carly’s unsophisticated dancer mother far beneath Arthur St Just’s touch and he made no bones about it. In Piran’s eyes, she was no more than the gold-digging hussy who had trapped his unsuspecting father into matrimony.

  While Des accepted his stepmother with equanimity, at the same time acknowledging that she wasn’t quite what one would have expected Arthur St Just to pick for a wife, the same was not true of Piran.

  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?’