A Baby In His In-Tray. Michelle Douglas

over a tiny hand.

      The hand opened and gripped one of Liv’s fingers convulsively before loosening again as she drifted back into a deep sleep. It was as if that little hand had squeezed Liv’s heart. She’d known Jemima for all of three days, and yet she’d do anything now to protect her.

      She rose and spun around to find Sebastian right behind her. She took an instinctive step backwards, the scent of cinnamon and something darker like aniseed wrapping about her. With a smothered oath he seized her shoulders before she could fall over the baby carrier.

      ‘Careful.’ He moved her three steps away from it.

      ‘Sorry, I, um...didn’t realise you were standing right there.’ So close! ‘You startled me.’

      The warmth of his hands burned through the thin material of her jumper, sending a drugging surge of heat coursing through her blood. He stared down at her and his pupils dilated. This close to him she could see the lighter flecks—almost silver—in the grey of his eyes.

      His hands dropped abruptly back to his sides and this time it was he who took a hasty step back. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

      She swiped suddenly damp palms across the seat of her jeans. ‘No problem,’ she said, before gesturing that they should return to the kitchen.

      She preceded him. When she turned back, she found him staring down at the baby with such gentleness her heart turned in her chest. He reached down to pull the cover up around the baby more fully. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing, little one. I’ll find your mamma for you. I promise.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said before she even realised she was going to say anything.

      He turned to stare at her, straightened. ‘Yes?’

      ‘To your solution. I think it’s a good one. Just let me pack a bag.’

      * * *

      It took nearly half an hour in a black cab to drive from Liz’s southside suburb to Sebastian’s home—just off the outer circle of Regent’s Park. The cab stopped in front of a neoclassical terrace—all white brick and imposing columns. ‘You...you live here?’ she breathed.

      Sebastian didn’t answer. He was already out of the cab, busy paying the driver and collecting up the various bags. She went to help him, but he shook his head. ‘You just take care of Jemima.’ He handed her a key and then hitched his head in the direction of the...mansion. ‘Let yourself in.’

      She stared at the black front door. Just...wow! Did he own the entire building or had it been converted into apartments? She glanced down at the key. She guessed there was only one way to find out.

      She unlocked the door to find a large entrance hall complete with a fancy chandelier. A grand staircase curved gracefully to the upper floors. Reception rooms ranged off on either side. So...not a converted flat, then.

      She moved the baby carrier to the other hand. ‘Hello?’

      ‘Who are you calling for?’

      Sebastian came bustling in behind her. He set her bag, two of Jemima’s bags and the portable cot that Jemima refused to sleep in down on the floor. His suitcase and several other bags still stood on the footpath.

      ‘I... Your staff. I didn’t want the appearance of a strange woman with a baby to make anyone nervous.’

      ‘I don’t have staff.’

      He turned and headed back outside to collect the rest of their bags.

      She could feel her eyes start from their sockets. What did he mean, he didn’t have staff?

      ‘Mrs Wilson comes in three days a week to clean,’ he said, when he came back in. ‘But I have no live-in staff.’ He set the remaining bags down. ‘I’m rarely in London.’ He shrugged. ‘It’d be indulgent, unnecessarily extravagant.’

      And she was quickly coming to realise that he was neither of those things. Unfortunately that only made her like him all the more.

      ‘You seem surprised.’

      She moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘So when you said I’d have help with the baby...?’

      His face cleared. ‘I meant me—that I’d help you. We can take it in shifts.’

      A vision of spending the late hours of the night with him rose up through her mind with disconcerting clarity. Ooh, no...that couldn’t happen and—

      ‘That is OK, isn’t it?’

      But in the next instant she remembered the Jekyll and Hyde act Jemima pulled as soon as the sun went down and the image dissolved. There’d be no opportunity for any...funny business. Which was just as well, she told herself in her sternest voice.

      ‘Ms Gilmour?’

      She shook herself. ‘Yes, of course that’s OK. I just feel a bit of an idiot now for expecting staff.’

      He hefted bags into his hands. ‘My parents would tell you I’m the idiot.’

      ‘They’d fill the place with an army of staff, I take it?’

      ‘They would.’

      She grabbed the nappy bag and followed him towards the staircase. ‘You know what? I don’t think I’d like your parents very much.’

      ‘You’d be one of the few. They’re widely considered...eccentric but charming’

      She wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, the likelihood of me meeting your parents, Seb—’

      She froze at her slip.

      He stilled.

      Everything inside of her crunched up tight. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was awfully unprofessional of me. Blame sleep deprivation. I promise it won’t happen again, Mr Tyrell.’

      He set his bags on the floor. He took the nappy bag and baby carrier from her and put both down—gently—as well. He turned her to face him, before planting his hands on his hips. Her mouth dried as she took in the long line of his legs—their latent power barely disguised by his business trousers—those lean hips tapering up to intriguingly broad shoulders.

      ‘I think this is an issue we ought to clear up right now.’