think she was safe and things were safely locked away before springing something out of the blue on her.
Maybe she wasnât even awake. Maybe sheâd fallen asleep on the sofa upstairs, in front of the flickering fire, and would wake up in a pool of sweat.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
She turned the handle again, oh-so-slowly, and prayed her imagination would get under control. Things like this didnât happen to people like her.
This time her reaction was different. This time the cold night air was sucked into her lungs with a force she didnât think she possessed. Every hair on her body stood instantly on endâand it wasnât from the cold.
It was a baby. Someone had left a baby on her doorstep.
CHAPTER TWO
F OR A SECOND , Carrie couldnât move. Her brain wouldnât compute. Her body wouldnât function.
Her ears were amplifying the sound. The little mew, mew, mew sheâd thought sheâd heard was actually a whimper. A whimper that was sounding more frightening by the second.
Her immediate instinct was to runâfast. Get away from this whole situation to keep the fortress around her heart firmly in place and to keep herself sheltered from harm. No good could come of this.
But she couldnât fight the natural instinct inside herâno matter how hard she tried. So she did what any mother would do: she picked up the little bundle and held it close to her chest.
Even the blanket was cold. And the shock of picking up the bundle chilled her.
Oh, no. The baby.
She didnât think. She didnât contemplate. She walked straight over to the nearest doorâthe one with the thudding musicâand banged loudly with her fist. âHelp! I need help!â
Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then the music switched off and she heard the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor. The door opened and she held her breath.
There he was. In all his glory. Scruffy dark hair, too-tired eyes and bare-chested, with only a pair of jeans clinging to his hipsâand a bright pink plaster cast on his wrist. She blinked. Trying to take in the unexpected sight. His brow wrinkled. âWhat theâ?â
She pushed past him into the heat of his apartment.
âI need help. I found this baby on our doorstep.â
âA baby?â He looked stunned, then reached over and put a hand around her shoulders, pulling her further inside the apartment and guiding her into a chair next to the fire.
âWhat do I do? What do I do with a baby? Why would someone do this?â She was babbling and she couldnât help it. She was in a strange half-naked manâs apartment in New York, with an abandoned baby and her pyjamas on.
This really couldnât be happening.
Her brain was shouting messages at her. But she wasnât listening. She couldnât listen. Get out of here.
She stared down at the little face bundled in the blanket. The babyâs eyes were screwed shut and its brow wrinkled. Was it a girl? Or a boy? Something shifted inside her. This was hard. This was so hard.
She shouldnât be here. She absolutely shouldnât be here. She was the last person in the world qualified to look after a baby.
But even though her brain was screaming those thoughts at her, her body wasnât listening. Because sheâd lifted her hand, extended one finger and was stroking it down the perfect little cold cheek.
* * *
Dan Cooperâs day had just gone from unlucky to ridiculous. He recognised her. Of course he recognised her. She was the girl with the sad eyes from upstairs.
But now she didnât look sad. She looked panicked.
He was conscious that her gaze had drifted across his bare abdomen. If she hadnât been banging on the door so insistently he would have pulled on a shirt first. Instead, he tried to keep his back from her line of vision as he grabbed the T-shirt lying across the back of his sofa.
He looked back at her. Now she didnât look
Maybe she wasnât even awake. Maybe sheâd fallen asleep on the sofa upstairs, in front of the flickering fire, and would wake up in a pool of sweat.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
She turned the handle again, oh-so-slowly, and prayed her imagination would get under control. Things like this didnât happen to people like her.
This time her reaction was different. This time the cold night air was sucked into her lungs with a force she didnât think she possessed. Every hair on her body stood instantly on endâand it wasnât from the cold.
It was a baby. Someone had left a baby on her doorstep.
CHAPTER TWO
F OR A SECOND , Carrie couldnât move. Her brain wouldnât compute. Her body wouldnât function.
Her ears were amplifying the sound. The little mew, mew, mew sheâd thought sheâd heard was actually a whimper. A whimper that was sounding more frightening by the second.
Her immediate instinct was to runâfast. Get away from this whole situation to keep the fortress around her heart firmly in place and to keep herself sheltered from harm. No good could come of this.
But she couldnât fight the natural instinct inside herâno matter how hard she tried. So she did what any mother would do: she picked up the little bundle and held it close to her chest.
Even the blanket was cold. And the shock of picking up the bundle chilled her.
Oh, no. The baby.
She didnât think. She didnât contemplate. She walked straight over to the nearest doorâthe one with the thudding musicâand banged loudly with her fist. âHelp! I need help!â
Nothing happened for a few seconds. Then the music switched off and she heard the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor. The door opened and she held her breath.
There he was. In all his glory. Scruffy dark hair, too-tired eyes and bare-chested, with only a pair of jeans clinging to his hipsâand a bright pink plaster cast on his wrist. She blinked. Trying to take in the unexpected sight. His brow wrinkled. âWhat theâ?â
She pushed past him into the heat of his apartment.
âI need help. I found this baby on our doorstep.â
âA baby?â He looked stunned, then reached over and put a hand around her shoulders, pulling her further inside the apartment and guiding her into a chair next to the fire.
âWhat do I do? What do I do with a baby? Why would someone do this?â She was babbling and she couldnât help it. She was in a strange half-naked manâs apartment in New York, with an abandoned baby and her pyjamas on.
This really couldnât be happening.
Her brain was shouting messages at her. But she wasnât listening. She couldnât listen. Get out of here.
She stared down at the little face bundled in the blanket. The babyâs eyes were screwed shut and its brow wrinkled. Was it a girl? Or a boy? Something shifted inside her. This was hard. This was so hard.
She shouldnât be here. She absolutely shouldnât be here. She was the last person in the world qualified to look after a baby.
But even though her brain was screaming those thoughts at her, her body wasnât listening. Because sheâd lifted her hand, extended one finger and was stroking it down the perfect little cold cheek.
* * *
Dan Cooperâs day had just gone from unlucky to ridiculous. He recognised her. Of course he recognised her. She was the girl with the sad eyes from upstairs.
But now she didnât look sad. She looked panicked.
He was conscious that her gaze had drifted across his bare abdomen. If she hadnât been banging on the door so insistently he would have pulled on a shirt first. Instead, he tried to keep his back from her line of vision as he grabbed the T-shirt lying across the back of his sofa.
He looked back at her. Now she didnât look
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