A Baby to Heal Their Hearts

Author:Kate Hardy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

BAILEY’S PANIC GREW as she walked up the path to Jared’s door. She almost didn’t ring the bell and scuttled home to safety instead, but she knew that would be unkind and unfair. He’d gone to the effort of cooking her a meal, so the least she could do was turn up to eat it—even if she did feel way more jumpy than the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof.

She took a deep breath and rang the bell.

When he answered the door, she was glad she’d opted for smart casual, because he’d done the same. He was wearing black trousers and a dark blue shirt that brought out the colour of his eyes. She could feel herself practically dissolving into a puddle of hormones, and her social skills had all suddenly deserted her.

How had she forgotten just how gorgeous the man was?

And his biceps.

Don’t think about his biceps, she told herself. Concentrate. Friends and colleagues.

She handed him the wine and chocolates. ‘I forgot to ask you if I should bring red or white, so I played it safe—and I should’ve asked you if you like milk, white or dark chocolate.’ Oh, help. Now she was gabbling and she sounded like a fool.

‘These are just fine, and you really didn’t need to bring them—but I appreciate it,’ he said.

And, oh, that smile was to die for. The butterflies in her tummy went into stampede mode.

‘Come in.’ He stood aside and gestured for her to enter.

How come he didn’t look anywhere near as nervous as she felt? How could he be so cool and relaxed when she was a gibbering wreck?

She followed him inside, her tension and anticipation growing with every step.

‘We’re eating in the kitchen. I hope that’s OK,’ he said, obviously trying to put her at ease.

‘That’s very OK, thanks.’ His kitchen was gorgeous: a deep terracotta tiled floor teamed with glossy cream cabinets, dark worktops and duck-egg-blue walls. There was a small square maple table at one end with two places set. ‘I really like the way you’ve done your kitchen,’ she said.

‘I’m afraid it’s all my sister’s idea rather than mine,’ he confessed. ‘When I bought this place and did it up, she offered to paint for two hours a day until it was done if I would let her choose the kitchen.’

It sounded as if he was as close to his family as she was to hers. ‘So you’re not really a cook, then?’

‘Given that you come from a family of restaurateurs and chefs, I wouldn’t dare claim to be a cook,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘I promise I won’t go into food critic mode.’

He pretended to mop his brow in relief, making her smile. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Yes, please—whatever you’re having.’

He took a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge and poured them both a glass. Bailey noted that all his appliances were built-in and hidden behind doors to match the rest of the cabinets. Efficient and stylish at the same time.

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