Abby’s throat moved. “I was just going to –,”
Whatever she’d been about to say – a delay – died in her throat when she met his eyes. “Okay. It can wait.” She ran her fingers through Charlotte’s hair and smiled gently, before passing the tiny little girl to Gray.
He’d thought he fell in love when Abby told him about Charlotte, then he thought he’d loved her when he first saw her, but holding his daughter for the first time was like being turned inside out. He stared down at her, lost, silent, trying to grab hold of the man he was, but not sure of anything in the world anymore. His true north was shifting, taking up residence in this teeny little person.
And all his instincts, what had really just been negotiating earlier, took on a new imperative.
“I’m not going to be a stranger to her.” He spoke with brutal determination. “You’re both moving in with me, effective immediately.” He didn’t look at Abby as he said the words. He didn’t need to.
He heard her intake of breath and his gut twisted.
“Excuse me.” The words were whispered and then she stepped from the room, disappearing and leaving him alone with Charlotte.
The baby wasn’t crying. She simply stared at him with curiosity, before lifting a hand to his face, running it over the stubble there and then they smiled at each other, matching dimples digging into either cheek.
Showeredand changed into one of her favorite dresses, her dark hair brushed until it gleamed, Abby felt slightly more ready to face Gray. Or so she thought. But when she emerged into the living room, it was to see Charlotte walking on those delicious, chubby legs, holding Gray’s hand and proudly showing him her few toys. “Choo, choo, choo,” she said importantly, pointing to the trainset Abby had got at a yard sale.
“Show me,” he invited, still not aware of Abby’s return. So she stilled, remaining right where she was, shoulder pressed to the door jamb, eyes focused on father and daughter. He crouched on his haunches, powerful and strong, and so flexible for a guy of over six feet, as Charlotte pulled out the train box, giggling as it came a little too fast and she almost toppled backwards. But Gray’s lightning-fast instincts were there, his arm forming a gentle buffer at her back, steadying her without taking any of her independence. Charlotte barely noticed, and Abby felt a rush of pride. Her daughter had a strong sense of security. Abby had worked hard for that.
“Track,” Charlotte said, with that same sense of importance. She sat in that jerky way of toddlers, as though their legs had just given way beneath them, both feet stretched out in front of her as she reached into the box and removed her favorite, well-handled pieces, clicking them into place with a stubborn expression on her face as Gray watched. He didn’t help, and Abby’s heart tightened because she knew he understood. Charlotte was fiercely independent and rarely wanted assistance when she played, even if it took her three times as long to do something on her own.
When she’d painstakingly stitched together four pieces, she’d made a long enough section for the train to run on, so she grabbed it in her hands and placed it on the timber tracks, only then looking to Gray for his reaction.
“Show me,” he said, and his voice was so damn raw and primal that Abby turned to look at him properly, and felt like she’d been punched in the chest.
The love on his face took her breath away, and she knew then how wrong she’d been to keep Charlotte from him. She’d believed it was in everyone’s best interests, but it hadn’t been. It could never have been.
She’d denied him fifteen months of their daughter’s life and she could never fix that, but she could start making amends now. He just wanted to be a part of this, to be the kind of dad who could build tracks with her every day.
Abby had never known that kind of love. She’d never had a dad who loved her like this. And she’d wanted it so badly. How could she deny Charlotte what Gray was offering?
She muffled a tiny sob, lifting her hand and pressing it to her lips, but not quickly enough. It was the faintest of noises, yet he turned immediately, his eyes pinning her to the spot.
“Okay,” she whispered, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’ll marry you.”
He stared at her for several seconds, then nodded, slowly. Whatever he was feeling – and she could see he was concealing a truckload of emotion – he simply nodded. “That’s the right decision.”
“We’re goingto need to set up some ground rules.” Abby kept her voice neutral, as she wrestled Charlotte out of her simple white singlet top, before dipping her face forward and pressing a kiss to their daughter’s forehead.
Gray’s anger at having been blocked from his daughter’s life had only intensified as the morning progressed. The more time he’d spent with Charlotte, the more he thought of what he’d missed, and the more he wondered about what would have happened if he hadn’t met Abby again – completely by chance. He would never have known about his own daughter. It was a truth almost impossible to forgive.
So why was he staring at Abby’s gentle lines in that beautiful emerald colored sundress, as she leaned forward and blew raspberries on Charlotte’s tummy? He felt his cock stiffen against the fabric of his pants, as her long, elegant fingers, reached for Charlotte’s hands and squeezed them, singing a little song and moving their daughter’s arms around as if she were dancing.
Perhaps desire was an inevitable conclusion of having created something as amazing as Charlotte. He’d put a baby in Abby and she’d grown and stretched and nurtured that baby until she’d been born and there was something so neanderthal and sexy about that, he wanted to do it all over again. The thought had him straightening, grabbing hold of his control and pushing back any wayward thoughts.
“Go on,” was all he said – all he trusted himself to say. She had the grace of a ballet dancer. Always had. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. She moved as though she was listening to a classical song that no one else could hear.
She flicked an uneasy glance at him before quickly turning back to Charlotte. She picked up a shirt from a pile of neatly folded clothing at her left. “I want my own bedroom.”
“Charlotte will know that’s not how most married people –,”
“When she’s older, perhaps, but for now, she’s used to me being on my own. This will be far more normal for her than to find us sleeping in the same bed. You’re still a stranger to her,” Abby threw in defensively. It was a mistake to remind him of that fact. He ground his teeth together, aware that anger – any emotion, in fact – didn’t serve him in negotiations.
Where Abby slept was not a particularly important point. There was no sense arguing over it. Better to give her this victory. “Fine. My penthouse has plenty of rooms – choose whichever you want.”
She expelled a soft sigh of relief.
“Good,” she half-smiled, then pressed a finger to Charlotte’s chin. “Because we can’t lose sight of why we’re doing this.”