The Yuletide Child, Charlotte Lamb [best novels to read .TXT] 📗

If she had talked to Ross frankly they might have understood each other better, but they hadn’t even known each other a year, and Ross had always been so busy. He had been out in the forest during daylight hours, and sometimes during the night. When they were together they hadn’t done much talking in the first months of their marriage. Their desire for each other had been too hot, too intense; the fire had flared up the instant they were alone together.

When she’d woken up just now and seen him asleep in that chair she had instantly felt her body burn with passion, with need, with desire. Her own feelings hadn’t changed—but had his?

They had to start talking, understand each other at last—there must be no more misunderstandings.

Five minutes later she went back into the bedroom to find Ross alone, standing by the fireplace, putting another log on the fire burning in the grate. The dry wood crackled and a greenish flame shot up the chimney. Hearing her, Ross turned his head without straightening, his thick black hair tumbling over his face.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

She had splashed her face with lukewarm water, combed her hair and tied it back from her face. Staring with an awareness that made her pulses beat twice as fast, Ross said huskily, ‘You look the way you did when we first met! It suits you, that hairstyle—shows off your beautiful cheekbones and those great big blue eyes.’

She couldn’t remember the last time he had paid hera compliment, or looked at her the way he was looking now! Flushed and breathless, she climbed back into the bed, which either Ross or Ruth had remade while she was in the bathroom. She was relieved to lie down again; the effort of that visit to the bathroom had been more tiring than she had expected.

‘Ruth won’t be a moment,’ he said, still staring, making her very self-conscious. Coming over to the bed, he sat down and picked up her hand, stroking her slender fingers. ‘Dylan...you do believe me, now, don’t you? About Suzy? God knows why you jumped to the conclusion that we were lovers, but I swear to you we weren’t. There has never been anything like that between us.’

‘If she hadn’t called you darling when she rang I might not have been so jealous!’ Dylan confessed.

Ross grimaced. ‘She calls everyone darling! Suzy is very extrovert, extravagant, over-the-top-not my type at all.’

‘What is your type?’ she asked bitterly, and his fingers tightened on hers.

‘You are. Don’t you know that? I love your quietness—you don’t talk all the time, like Suzy, or play loud pop music night and day, or chatter on the phone to friends. Alan’s happy with Suzy because she suits him, but she would never suit me. I could never live with someone like that.’

She believed him now; his tone was convincing. ‘She doesn’t turn you on, then?’ she murmured, her lashes lowered, watching him through them.

‘How could you think for a second that I’d look at her when I have you?’ He lifted her hand to his mouth, turned it palm upwards and softly pressed his lips into her skin, making Dylan’s heart race wildly.

At that instant they heard Ruth’s tread on the stairs.

‘Damn, we never get a minute alone!” muttered Ross. ‘I shall be glad when we’re in our own home and people can’t keep walking in on us!’

So shall I, Dylan thought, still trembling from the sensual delight of having him kiss her hand.

‘Here’s your lunch,’ Ruth said cheerfully as Ross opened the door for her.

The smell of the food made Dylan’s stomach clamour—she was suddenly absolutely ravenous. How long was it since she ate anything? Breakfast seemed a long time ago. She sat up, and Ross slid pillows behind her, then Ruth placed the tray across her lap.

The casserole had a marvellous smell. It was a delight to the eye, too: golden chicken in a creamy, honey-coloured sauce, with mushrooms, slices of potato, carrot, peas and tiny herb dumplings. Ruth had brought her a glass of orange juice, too.

‘I’ll bring you some coffee while you eat that,’ said Ruth, going out again.

‘Have you eaten?’ Dylan asked Ross, and he nodded.

‘Ruth brought me some food a couple of hours ago.’ He went back to the fire and stirred it with a longhandled brass poker, making the logs crackle and sparks fly up the chimney, little glints of red against the sooty black.

By the time Ruth came back with her coffee Dylan had finished the casserole and was leaning back against her pillows, feeling sleepy and sated.

‘You were obviously starving,’ Ruth laughed, taking the tray away and putting a cup of very milky coffee on the bedside table. She had brought coffee for Ross, too.

‘It was delicious, thank you. I enjoyed every mouthful,’Dylan said, then with husky eagerness asked, ‘Will you bring me my baby now?’

‘Right away,’ promised Ruth, going out, and came back at once, carrying the wicker basket she had turned into a cot, with Henry following hard on her heels.

Dylan had almost finished her coffee by then. She put the cup down and held out her arms.

‘Please, bring her to me.’

‘Let me,’ Ross said to Ruth, who smiled indulgently at him.

Taking the baby from the basket very carefully, one hand beneath her tiny head, his other arm cradling her, Ross carried her over to the bed.

Dylan felt a tremor inside her as he put her baby into her arms. Stroking back the fine dark hair with one finger, she gazed down into the little face. Bright blue eyes stared back at her, then the baby’s face turned a furious dark red, her mouth opened and she began to yell.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ross asked, looking worried.

‘She’s a smart baby—she knows it’s time for her first feed!’ said Henry, amused. ‘Dylan, your milk won’t be in yet, but she’ll get some nourishment from you. Let’s see how you get on.’

Dylan undid the front of her cotton nightdress and uncertainly lifted