For Their Baby. Kathleen O'Brien

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      Their gazes met

      A welcome moment of harmony. It felt like an oasis in the desert of this difficult journey. Neither of them spoke right away, as if they were both afraid another word would make the feeling break like a mirage.

      “Kitty—”

      She held up her hand. “No, it’s all right, David. I know it’s hard to accept. Hard to believe. And you’ve got a lot of things to consider. I’m sure you’ll want to talk to your lawyer before you—”

      “No.”

      She stopped cold. “No?”

      “No. I don’t need to talk to Colby. I don’t want Colby’s advice. I know what I want to do.”

      She held her breath.

      “I want to marry you.”

      Dear Reader,

      The last time you saw David Gerard, he wasn’t a happy man. He’d just been dumped by the woman he’d hoped to marry. But Belle Carson found her happily-ever-after with Matt Malone in For the Love of Family, the book I wrote for Harlequin Superromance’s wonderful Diamond Legacy series. And that locked gorgeous David out in the cold.

      Thanks to your emails and letters, I couldn’t leave him there. Apparently we’re all die-hard romantics. We don’t buy into the myth that nice guys finish last!

      David doesn’t take the easy road to true love. When he decides to tap into his inner bad boy, he makes some terrible mistakes—the worst being a one-night stand with a green-haired bartender he meets in the Bahamas. Then Kitty Hemmings shows up pregnant, and David realizes it’s time to pay the price for being such a fool.

      First thing to go? That level-headed life he’s worked so hard to build. Because Kitty is one lady who won’t be tamed—not unless this sensible guy is willing to go all out to win her heart.

      I hope you enjoy their spark-filled journey toward becoming a family. I love to hear from my readers, so be sure to mail me at P.O. Box 947633, Maitland, FL 32794, or email me at [email protected]. Or let’s be friends on Facebook! See you online!

      Warmly,

      Kathleen O’Brien

      For Their Baby

      Kathleen O’Brien

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      Kathleen O’Brien was a feature writer and TV critic before marrying a fellow journalist. Motherhood, which followed soon after, was so marvelous she turned to writing novels, which could be done at home. She works hard to pack her backyard with birds, butterflies and squirrels. Indoors, her two cockatiels, Honey and Lizzie, announce repeatedly, if not humbly, that they are “pretty birds.” Her colorful Gouldian finch, who lives in her office, fills every day with music.

      To Nancy, Kris, Leslie, Deirdre and Dawn,

       the SHU buddies who have,

       over the past couple of years,

       added so much fun and focus to my writing!

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      SHE WAS GOING to marry him?

      Kitty Hemmings stared at the cell phone and tried to process the words she’d just heard on her voice mail. Surely her mother hadn’t said marry. No matter how low the woman’s self-esteem had plummeted, no matter how desperately she needed a Y chromosome by her side, she wouldn’t—she couldn’t—actually marry Jim Oliphant.

      The beachside bar speakers launched into a steel drum version of “Red, Red Wine,” and the breeze, always warm here in the Bahamas even in November, gusted gently across her hot cheeks. Suddenly Kitty’s hands began to shake. She gripped the handle of the beer spigot for balance.

      Lucinda Hemmings had pulled some pathetic stunts in her time. But marrying that bastard would top them all. Jim was a dozen years younger than her mother. He was slick and charming, but stone-broke, of course, just another barnacle trying to attach his empty wallet to Lucinda’s bank account.

      He’d hung around more than eight years, a record for any of her mother’s boyfriends. Kitty had been hoping, any day, to hear that he’d given up and gone away. She’d even dreamed about Lochaven last night, about the Virginia oaks covered in Spanish moss, and the red tile roof, and her own bedroom, where her poster of Johnny Depp still hung on the door. For the first time in eight years, she’d let herself imagine what it might be like to live in a real house again, and not a crummy efficiency apartment or service-industry dorm.

      But now…with Oliphant permanently installed…

      Her mother had sounded so happy. Kitty bit down on her lower lip, remembering the lilt in the voice, and the subtle slur that said Lucinda hadn’t declined an extra flute of champagne with dinner. Of course not. Jim Oliphant didn’t drink alone. “I know you don’t like him, sweetheart, but…”

      Like him? Kitty’s lunch rose briefly into her throat, an acidic reminder of the mandarin oranges she’d wolfed down between shifts. Like him? Who could like Jim Oliphant? He might be square-jawed and handsome on the outside, but on the inside he was what her father called âme de boue. Soul of mud.

      Kitty swallowed hard, forcing herself to release her death grip on the spigot. She couldn’t dwell on this now. She was on the clock another ten minutes, that was all. Just until midnight. Then she’d go back to the dorm and, since her roommate, Jill, was working till two, she’d have a little alone time.

      Maybe she’d bake something sweet, something from her childhood. Comfort food.

      And then, when she let herself think again, maybe her mother’s news wouldn’t hurt so much.

      “Hello? Earth to barmaid? Two Slim Spiffies? Heavy on the cherries?”

      She looked up, trying to compose herself. She’d seen this guy before. The bartenders had a nickname for every customer. They called this one Mr. Sleazy. She suddenly realized he could have been Oliphant’s older brother. The too-bronze tan, the overly highlighted hair and the sucked-gut vanity that begged you to believe he was twenty-five instead of forty.

      “Sure.” She slid the cell phone under the bar and smiled. “What’s in a Slim Spiffy besides cherries?”

      Mr. Sleazy leaned in, and she got a whiff of his breath. Oh. So that was a Slim Spiffy. Gin, cranberry juice, orange slices and the guarantee that, before the night was over, he’d puke his guts out into the sand.

      Her smile stiffened. His eyes probably weren’t nice on his best day, and this was definitely not his best day. Tiny red spiders crawled across the whites, and the pupils didn’t quite track. She felt her hand begin to tremble again. She hated mean drunks. Jim Oliphant had been a very, very mean drunk.

      “Just