Christmas at the Cove. Rachel Brimble

to do. I’ll be at the bar when you need a drink. Something tells me that will be sooner rather than later.”

      Nick marched out the door, his feet banging down the iron steps and through the garage. Scott refused to allow his friend’s judgment to seep into his blood and make him resent Carrie when she’d done nothing wrong. She’d promised him nothing. He had to see her.

      Locking the door behind him, Scott hurried down the steps and through the garage. He drew together the two iron doors and padlocked them before pocketing the keys in his jeans. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the collar of his leather jacket and, with his head bent against the wind and rain, jogged toward town.

      The townspeople were out in their numbers as Christmas Day approached with a rapidity Scott couldn’t think about right then. Some faces etched with happiness, others with stress—there was no avoiding the holidays would soon be here and Scott was far from prepared. He passed the temporary ice rink that was set up in the town square every year.

      The sound of the kids’ laughter and their joyful expressions as they whizzed around the rink did nothing to appease Scott’s trepidation. It seemed a lifetime ago when he was carefree enough at Christmastime to spend it at the rink.

      Forcing his gaze ahead, he pounded the distance and, with each hundred yards, his adrenaline slowed and his mind leveled. The gold-and-bronze canopy of the Christie Hotel came into view. Slowing to a walk, he nodded to the doorman and passed through the revolving door into the hotel’s lobby. It was a fancy, old-fashioned place. Not necessarily to his taste, but that didn’t prevent the image of Carrie, dressed in a column of sapphire silk and killer heels, from filtering through his mind.

      Once again, his dick twitched awake and his blood heated. Even the knowledge she was married didn’t cool his physical need to make love to her again. Her hair, her eyes...those damn, sexy legs covered with sheer black stockings. Never before had a woman held him so quickly and so strongly in her snare. Thoughts of her with another man, and married, caused a lash of inexplicable pain in his chest—a pain so much worse than the surges of jealousy that had torn through him for months after she left whenever he imagined her with another man.

      He lifted his chin and shoved his thoughts into submission. He glanced around the hotel lobby and smiled wryly. Yep, the place suited her perfectly. Carrie had that whole Hollywood golden age thing going on. A woman with good curves in all the right places. Rita Hayworth, Jane Russell...He breathed deep and smiled. Real women.

      He approached the front desk. The stout, English butler–type manager wore the air of a king overseeing his subjects. He met Scott’s eyes with casual indifference. “Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?”

      Scott cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. I believe a Carrie Jameson is staying here. Could you please phone her room and ask her to meet me in the lobby?”

      “Your name, sir?”

      “Walker. Scott Walker.”

      “One moment, please.”

      The desk manager picked up the phone and Scott turned, his nerves jumping and his shoulders tense. He looked to his left at a group of suited businessman and grimaced. His idea of hell would be having to wake up each morning and get trussed up in a suit and tie to work behind a damn desk all day. He looked to his right...

      Carrie stood watching him. Her shoulders and chest rose as she took a deep breath and strode toward him. He pushed away from the desk. “Don’t worry. I found her.”

      “Sorry, sir?” The desk manager coughed behind him.

      “She’s here. No need to try her room.” Scott moved away from the desk, and he and Carrie came to a stop in the middle of the lobby. He stared, his gaze roaming over her hair to her face, lower to exquisite collarbones and smooth skin above breasts concealed beneath a red shirt—and, God help him, the revealed edge of a red satin bra.

      “You came.” Her words whispered from between scarlet-painted lips. “Thank you.”

      He met her eyes. “I’m sorry about Nick.”

      She smiled softly. “You know about that?”

      “He came to me straight afterward.” Unable to resist, he glanced at her hands clenched together in front of her. Her wedding band glinted. He met her eyes, his heart beating fast. “The man can be an ass, but he’s only trying to look out for me.”

      “I got that.” She broke eye contact and waved toward some seats to the side of them. “Shall we—”

      “Why are you here, Carrie?”

      A faint stain colored her cheeks. “Why don’t we sit down?” She glanced around. “I don’t want to do this standing up with everyone watching.”

      “Why does it matter?” He clenched his jaw. “Does your husband know you’ve come to Templeton? That you’re here now? With me?”

      Her color darkened and her gaze blazed with anger. “My husband has nothing to do with this. I’m sitting down. You can either join me or go. I’m not talking about this for everyone else’s entertainment.”

      Scott glared after her as she stormed away. He hesitated as his gut churned with indecision. Whatever she had to tell him couldn’t be good, but how the hell could he walk away without knowing what brought her back to Templeton? Not knowing would haunt him for the rest of his damn life.

      Cursing, he pulled back his shoulders and strode across the lobby to where she sat at a low table, smoothing her hands up and down the length of her denim-clad thighs. He slid into the seat opposite her, his gaze once again flitting to the shiny gold wedding band on her ring finger. God, he was grateful for the table between them. A table that acted as a boulder. A boulder he deemed necessary if his urge to touch another man’s wife was anything to go by.

      He met her eyes. “Okay, I’m listening.”

      Her gaze bored into his before she dropped her attention to her lap. Her hands were clamped so tightly together, her knuckles showed white. Scott shifted in his seat. No part of him was used to making women uncomfortable or fearful. He wasn’t a monster and he refused to let Carrie make him feel that way.

      He reached across the table and took her hand. She flinched and her head snapped up. Her dark brown eyes were wide with caution. “What?”

      “Whatever you have to tell me, just say it.”

      Time stood still.

      Dread seeped into his veins, making him want to lunge forward and wrap his arms around her—whether in a bid to comfort or silence her, he couldn’t be sure.

      Tears leaped into her eyes and her hand trembled in his grasp. “I had a baby, Scott. Your baby.”