Christmas Eve: Doorstep Delivery. Sarah Morgan

had disturbed his red-hot daydream.

      And now his son was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

      Dragging his mind away from sex, Patrick tried to remember the question.

      But what did you say to a woman with whom you’d been intimate but hadn’t expected to see again?

       Hi, there—what are you doing on my doorstep?

      Patrick stood in silence, the reality of his life squashing the fantasy. He felt the children looking at him and he knew that, no matter what he said next, someone was going to be hurt. If he told her that they didn’t need a housekeeper then she’d be hurt and so would Alfie. If she stayed—

      He dismissed the thought impatiently.

       How could she possibly stay?

      They always said that the past would catch up with you, but he hadn’t expected it to catch up with him this quickly—hadn’t thought his children would find out about what had happened in Chicago.

      On the other hand, there had to be a reason why she was here. And only one reason came to mind.

      She was pregnant.

      She had to be pregnant. It was the only explanation for the fact that she was standing on his doorstep on Christmas Eve. She’d travelled over six thousand miles to talk to him.

      Patrick closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to stay calm and think clearly.

      He still didn’t understand how her visit to the UK had somehow become entangled with Alfie’s innocent advert for a housekeeper. All he knew was that his private moment of self-indulgence was no longer private. And the fact that she was pregnant…

      Biting back a word he tried never to say in front of his children, Patrick ran his hand over the back of his neck and concentrated on her face. If he looked at his kids he’d just feel guilty and lose his thread, and that wasn’t going to help anyone.