“Merry...short for Meredith,” Kimberly mused About the Author Title Page 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 EIGHTEEN Copyright

“Merry...short for Meredith,” Kimberly mused

“Is that what your friends call you?”

Meredith hesitated, glancing quickly at Nick Hamilton. “Only one other person has ever used that name for me.”

There was almost a savage, primitive satisfaction in relating who it had been, knowing that Nick Hamilton was listening, unaware she was speaking of him. “It was your father, Kimberly. Your real father. When he met me he said it was like all the Christmas lights in the world switched on inside him.”

Suddenly she choked, the memory so vivid, and here she was, all these years later, sitting with the heart-wrenching outcome of the one love affair of her life...with a daughter she didn’t know and the lover who didn’t know her.

Initially a French/English teacher, EMMA DARCY changed careers to computer programming before marriage and motherhood settled her into a community life. Creative urges were channeled into oil painting, pottery, designing and. overseeing the construction and decorating of two homes, all in the midst of keeping up with three lively sons and the very social life of her businessman husband, Frank. Very much a people person and always interested in relationships, she finds the world of romance fiction a happy one and the challenge of creating her own cast of characters very addictive. She enjoys traveling, and her experiences often find their way into her books. Emma Darcy lives on a country property in New South Wales, Australia.

Merry Christmas

Emma Darcy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

“UNCLE NICK? You asked me what I want for Christmas?”

Kimberly’s belligerent tone was forewarning enough that Nick was not going to like it. His twelve-year-old niece could be as difficult and as trying as a fully fledged teenager. She’d been sulking in her room ever since Rachel had arrived for Sunday brunch and this sudden, dramatic challenge, fired at him from the doorway to the balcony, was not a promise of peace and harmony. The plot, he deduced, was to demand something totally unreasonable and stir contention.

“Mmmh?” he said non-committally, staying behind his newspaper in the hope of taking the sting out of the bait.

Rachel’s newspaper rustled down. Undoubtedly she was looking at Kimberly with a brightly encouraging smile, doing her best to win the girl over. An increasingly futile exercise, Nick thought gloomily.

“I want my real mother.”

The shock of it almost wiped him out. The wallop to his heart took some absorbing and his mind totally fused. Fortunately his hands went into clench mode, keeping the newspaper up in cover defence while the initial impact of the surprise attack gave way to fast and furious thought.

Her real mother...was it a try-on, a fantasy, or sure knowledge? Impossible to tell without looking at her. He composed his face into an expression of puzzled inquiry and lowered his newspaper.

“I beg your pardon?”

Fierce green eyes scorned his bluff. “You know, Uncle Nick. The solicitor would have told you when Mum and Dad died. You couldn’t have become my legal guardian without knowing.”

Still he played it warily. “What am I supposed to know, Kimberly?”

“That I was adopted.”

Absolute certainty looked him straight in the face. It threw Nick into confusion. Kimberly was not supposed to know. His sister had been almost paranoid about keeping the secret. After the fatal accident last year, Nick had thought it best to keep the knowledge from his niece until she was eighteen. After all, losing both parents in traumatic circumstances and learning to live with an uncle was a big enough adjustment to make. Any further erosion of her sense of security did not seem a good idea.

“I have a real mother,” came the vehement assertion, her chin tilting defiantly, her eyes flashing resentment at Rachel before pinning Nick again. “I want to be with her for Christmas.”

He folded the newspaper and set it aside, realising this confrontation was very serious, indeed. ‘How long have you known, Kimberly?” he asked quietly.

“Ages,” she tossed at him.

“Who told you?” It had to be Colin, he thought. His sister’s husband had been a gentle man, dominated by Denise for the most part, yet retaining an innate personal dignity and integrity that would not be shaken over matters he considered “right.”

“No one told me,” Kimberly answered loftily. “I figured it out for myself.”

That rocked him. Had he conceded confirmation too soon? Too easily? How on earth could Kimberly figure it out for herself?

If someone had actually worked at matching a child to a family to ensure an adopted baby looked like natural offspring, Kimberly would be a prime example of outstanding success. She could easily be claimed by his side of the family.

She was long-legged and tall, like himself and his sister. Her black hair had the same springy texture and she even had a widow’s peak hairline, a family feature that went back generations. The eye colour—green instead of brown—was easily explained with Colin’s eyes being hazel. There were untraceable differences—every person was uniquely individual—but if his sister had declared her adopted child her own flesh and blood, Nick would never have doubted it.

So why had Kimberly?

“Would you mind telling me what gave it away to you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calmly controlled.

“The photographs,” she said as though throwing down irrefutable proof.

Nick had no idea what she was talking about.

She flounced forward and picked a cherry off the fruit platter he and Rachel had been sharing, popped it into her mouth and ostentatiously chewed it, hugging her budding chest, aggressively holding the floor, waiting for him to comment. Her green eyes had a fighting gleam.

Rebellion was in the air, from the swing of her ponytail to the brightly checked orange-yellow shorts teamed with a lime green tank top. Kimberly was making statements; right, left and centre. She was not going to be ignored, overlooked or left in the wings of anybody’s life.

Nick glanced at Rachel who had tactfully withdrawn any obvious interest in the family contretemps. From the balcony of his Blues Point apartment, one could take in a vast sweep of Sydney Harbour. Rachel’s gaze was fixed on the water view but her stillness revealed an acute listening and suddenly Nick didn’t want her hearing this, despite their intimate relationship.

“Rachel, this is a very private family matter...”

“Of course.” She rose quickly from her chair, flashing him an understanding smile. “I’ll let myself out and leave you to it, Nick.”

There was so much about Rachel he liked...very capable, highly intelligent, shrewdly perceptive about most people, though his twelve-year-old niece frequently flummoxed her. Even their careers dovetailed, she an investment advisor, he a banker. They were both in their thirties. As a prospective partner in life, Rachel Pearce looked about as good as Nick thought he was going to get, desirable in every sense, yet...the magic connection was missing.

As she stood up, sunshine glinted off her auburn hair, turning the short hairstyle into a glorious, copper cap. Good-looking, always chic, sexy, comfortable with men, her sherry brown eyes invariably warm for him... Nick wondered what more he could want in a woman?

Nevertheless, it didn’t feel right for her to be privy to such sensitive family secrets as Kimberly’s adoption. It involved delving into lives that only he and his niece had known and shared. It was not Rachel’s business. Not yet.

He rose from his chair at the same time, intent on taking command of the situation. “Thanks for your company, Rachel.”

“My pleasure. I hope...” She glanced at Kimberly who was helping herself to another cherry, stiffly and steadfastly ignoring her, then with a last rueful look at Nick, she shrugged her helplessness and turned to leave.

“Even if my real mother doesn’t want me, I won’t go to your old boarding school anyway,” Kimberly shot after her. “So you needn’t think you can get rid of me that easily.”

Rachel froze in the doorway to the living room.

Nick’s heart sustained another breathtaking blow. His mind, however, did have something to clutch on to this time—his conversation with Rachel last night. Kimberly should have been in her room asleep but she must have eavesdropped. This current mood and stance had clearly been fermenting ever since.

“It’s not a matter of getting rid of you, Kimberly,” he said tersely. “It’s a matter of what’s best for you.”

“You mean what’s best for you,” she retorted. “And best for her.” Her eyes flared fierce resentment. “I’m not stupid, Uncle Nick.”

“Precisely. Which is why I’d like you to start your secondary education at a good school. To give you the best teachers and the best education.”

“Most girls would consider it a privilege to go to PLC,” Rachel argued with some heat. “It’s certainly been advantageous to me.”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” Kimberly retaliated. “Anything to shunt me out of the way. You think I don’t know when I’m not wanted?”

“That’s enough, Kimberly,” Nick warned. Rachel had tried to reach out to his niece. There just didn’t seem to be any meeting place. Or she wasn’t granted one.

“Why boarding school, Uncle Nick?” came the pointed challenge. “If it’s only education you’re thinking of, why couldn’t I go as a day pupil? PLC is right here in Sydney.”

“You’re on your own too much, Kimberly,” he answered. “I thought the companionship of other girls would round out your life more.”

“You thought?” An accusing glare at Rachel. “Or Ms. Pearce suggested?”

“I was going to discuss it with you after Christmas.”

The accusative glare swung onto him. “You told her to go ahead and try to get me in.”

“That’s still not decisive, Kimberly. And you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.”

“If Mum had wanted me to go to an expensive, private boarding school, she would have booked me in years ago.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “You don’t want me. Not like Mum and Dad did.”

The recognition of unresolved grief was swift and sharp. His stomach clenched. He couldn’t replace her parents. No one could. He missed them, too, his only sibling who’d virtually brought him up, and Colin who’d always given him affectionate support and approval. It had been a struggle this past year, trying to merge his life with a twelve-year-old’s, but not once had he begrudged the task or the responsibility.

“I do want you, Kimberly,” he assured her gravely.

She shook her head, her face screwing up with conflicting and painful emotions. “I was dumped on you and now you want to dump me somewhere else.”

“No.”

She swiped her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing the wetness aside. “You won’t have to do anything if my real mother wants me. You can give me up and have your lady friend free and clear of somebody else’s daughter.” She glared balefully at Rachel. “I don’t want to be stuck with you any more than you want to be stuck with me, Ms. Pearce.”

Rachel heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes at Nick, powerless to stop the hostility aimed at her.

“Just go, Rachel,” he advised quietly.

“Sorry, Nick.”

“Not your fault.”

“No, it’s my fault,” Kimberly cried, her voice rising toward shrill hysteria. “I spoil it for both of you. So I’m the one who should go.”

The arm Nick swung out to stop her was left hanging uselessly as she rushed to the doorway and ducked past Rachel into the living room. He swiftly followed her but she ran full pelt to the front door, pausing only to yell back at him.

“If you care anything at all about me, Uncle Nick, you’ll do it. You’ll get my real mother for me for Christmas! Then maybe it could turn out right for all of us.”

CHAPTER TWO

IT HADN’T come today, either... the letter from Denise Graham with news of Kimberly and the photographs spanning another year.

Meredith Palmer struggled to fight off a depressing wave of anxiety as she entered her apartment and locked the rest of the world out. Again she shuffled through the stack of mail she’d just collected from her box; Christmas cards, bank statement, an advertising brochure. She opened the envelopes and extracted the contents, making doubly sure there was no mistake. Nothing from Denise Graham.

The packet usually came in the last week of November. It had done so for the past eleven years. Today was the fourteenth of December and the uneasy feeling that something was wrong was fast growing into conviction. Denise Graham had come across to Meredith, even in her letters, as a very precise person, the kind who would live by a strictly kept timetable. Unless the packet had somehow been lost or misdirected in the volume of Christmas mail, something had to be badly wrong in the Graham household.

Illness? An accident?

The tight feeling in her chest grew tighter as disastrous possibilities flew through Meredith’s mind. Not Kimberly, she fiercely prayed. Please...not Kimberly. Her little girl had to have a wonderful life ahead of her. Only by believing that had Meredith managed to repress the misery of not having kept her daughter.

She shook her head, fighting back the worst-case scenarios. Maybe something had happened to the solicitor who had handled the legal aspects of the adoption and subsequently become a conduit for the annual updates to Meredith. Whenever she’d had a change of address she had contacted him, at least half a dozen times before she’d saved enough money to invest in this apartment at Balmoral. Each time she had received a note of acknowledgment and nothing had gone wrong. Nevertheless, it could be that someone else was now handling his business, someone not as meticulously efficient.

She walked across her living room to the writing desk which spread across one corner, linking two walls of bookcases. Having automatically sorted her mail for future replies, she dropped it into in-baskets, then opened a drawer and took out her address book. It was too late to contact the firm of solicitors today but she’d do it first thing tomorrow. It made her feel better, simply copying the telephone number into the notebook she always carried in her handbag.

Despite having set herself a constructive course of action, Meredith still found it impossible to stop worrying. She switched on the television set to catch the evening news but didn’t hear a word of it. The glass of white wine she poured herself was consumed although she had no conscious memory of drinking it. After opening the refrigerator and staring at the contents of the shelves for several minutes without connecting anything together for a proper meal, she gave up on the idea of cooking and settled on cheese and pickles and crackers.

The problem was, she didn’t have a legal leg to stand on if Denise Graham had decided, for some reason, to break off the one promised contact with her. It had been a matter of trust, her letting Meredith know about their daughter’s life once a year...one mother’s word to another... an act of compassion in the face of Meredith’s grief at giving up her baby. If the solicitor told her there was to be no more contact, there was nothing she could do about it. Absolutely nothing.

A sense of helplessness kept eating at her, robbing her of any appetite, distracting her from doing anything purposeful. When the doorbell rang, she almost didn’t answer it. A check of her watch put the time at a few minutes past eight. She wasn’t expecting anyone and wasn’t in the mood to entertain a visitor. Only the thought of a neighbour in need prompted her to open the door.

Living alone had established automatic precautions. The security chain lock on the door only allowed an opening of a few centimetres. It was through this space—like a long crack in the fabric of time—Meredith saw the man she had never expected to see again.

His eyes caught hers, triggering the weird gush of feeling that only he had ever evoked...the wild whoosh from her heart to her head, like the sea washing into her ears, followed by a fountain of excitement shooting, splashing, rippling through her entire body, setting up an electric tingling of expectation for the most special connection in the world.

It had been like that for her thirteen years ago. As she stared at him now, the shocked sense of her world reeling backward was so strong, all she could do was stare and grip the doorknob with painful intensity, needing some reinforcement of current physical reality.

“Miss Palmer? Meredith Palmer?”

His voice struck old familiar chords that had lain dormant so long Meredith had forgotten them... chords of pleasure, of some sixth sense recognition, a deep resonant tone that thrummed through her, a seductive beat of belonging drawing on her soul.

Yet he didn’t know her. She could see he didn’t. He would have called her Merry. It had been his name for her...Merry...Merry Christmas... the best Christmas he had ever had.

“Yes,” she said, affirming her identity, her heart still bleeding over what his sister had sworn to her was the truth when she’d denied Meredith access to the father of her baby all those years ago. An accident had wiped out all memory of his summer vacation. He would have no recollection of her. Since he’d already left for the U.S. on a two-year study grant, Meredith had no possible way of testing if what his sister claimed was fact or fiction.

Now the evidence was in front of her. Not Merry. Miss Meredith Palmer with a question mark.

Yet shouldn’t there be a gut memory? Shouldn’t he feel at least an echo of what she was feeling? It hadn’t been one-sided back in the summer of her sixteenth year.

“My name is Nick Hamilton...”

There was a pause, as though he had to regather his thoughts and concentrate them on his purpose for coming to her. Since it wasn’t prompted by any memory of her—nerves tightened around Meredith’s stomach—it had to be related to Kimberly. Had he found out Kimberly was his daughter? Had something happened to her? Was he the carrier of bad news from his sister?

“...I’m Denise Graham’s brother,” he stated, identifying the connection that gave him credentials for calling on her.

“Yes,” Meredith repeated numbly, painfully aware of all the ramifications of that relationship. “You must have come about Kimberly. The packet...” She swallowed hard, a sickening wave of fear welling up over the emotional impact of seeing him again. “...I should have got it over a fortnight ago.”

“So I understand,” he said sympathetically. “May I come in? There’s a lot to explain.”

Meredith nodded, too choked up to speak. This man and his child had dominated the course of her life for thirteen years. To have him physically in front of her after all this time was both a dream and a nightmare. Her fingers fumbled over the chain slot. Her mind buzzed with the thought of letting him in... to far more than her apartment. And what of his child—her child—who had to be the reason he was here?

“Is Kimberly all right?” The question burst from her as she shakily drew the door wide for him to enter.

“Yes. Couldn’t be healthier,” came the quick assurance. He stepped inside, pausing beside her as she sagged in relief. His brow creased in concern and he made an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry you were worried. Your daughter is fine, Miss Palmer.”

The acknowledgment that she had a daughter brought tears to her eyes. No one in her current life knew. It had always been a painfully private part of her, not easily shared. Who could understand? There’d been so many forces pushing her into letting her baby go—for the best, they’d all said—but sometimes the mourning for the child she could never hold in her arms was overwhelming.

“Thank you,” she managed huskily.

Agitated by Nick Hamilton’s nearness, his understanding and his sympathy, she waved him on to her living room and made a prolonged business of relocking the door. Being situated on the fourth floor of this apartment building gave her some protection against break-ins and burglaries but Meredith was always careful. A woman on her own had to be in the city. Though it was impossible to protect against everything. She had opened her door and the past had rushed in on her tonight. Impossible to know at this point, whether it was good or bad.

“Nice place you have here.”

The appreciative compliment strove to put this meeting on an ordinary footing. It almost provoked a hysterical laugh from Meredith. She took a deep breath, struggling to keep her wildly swinging emotions under control, then slowly turned to play gracious hostess to this gracious guest. Following a polite formula was probably the best way of coping with untenable dreams.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice steadier, more natural.

He stood mostly in profile, looking back at her from the end of the short hallway that led past the kitchenette to the living room. For a heart-catching moment she saw the twenty-two-year-old Nick Hamilton, as enraptured by her as she was by him, the air between them charged by a heightened awareness that excluded the rest of the world.

Her heart started to thump erratically. Stupid to think nothing had changed. He was still tall, dark and stunningly handsome, but his superb physique was now clothed in an executive-class suit, there were threads of silver in his glossy black hair, and the lines of his face had a mature set to them, harder, sharper, stronger. Life moved on. He was probably married. With other children.

She’d thought that thought a thousand times before, so why did it hurt like hell right now? Because he was here, she answered herself, and his eyes looked exactly the same as when he’d looked at her in the summertime of their youth, combining the slowly feasting sensuality of dark chocolate with the overlying shine of intense magnets, tugging on her soul.

But what was he seeing? She wasn’t so young anymore, either, and she was suddenly acutely aware of her appearance. Her make-up was probably looking tired after the long day she’d put in at her office, mascara smudged under her eyes, lipstick faded to a pencilled outline. While her smooth olive skin didn’t have blemishes to cover, the matt powder she used to reduce shine would have worn off.

Not exactly putting her best foot forward, she thought ruefully, and was instantly reminded she was standing in her stockinged feet, having kicked off her shoes when she’d come in. Not that it made much difference. She only ever wore little heels. Her legs were so long she always felt her tall, slim figure looked out of proportion in high heels. Nevertheless, the omission of shoes left her feeling even more ungroomed.

And her hair had to be adding to that impression. He’d once described it as strings of honeycomb and treacle—words of smiling whimsy. It was undoubtedly stringy tonight. It hadn’t been brushed since this morning and it was so thick and fine it tended to look unkempt after a few hours, billowing out into a fuzzy cloud instead of a smooth curtain on either side of her long neck.

At least her dress would have retained its class. The silk linen chemise was mostly printed in a geometric pattern, black, white and sand, with stylish bands of each colour running around the lower half of the skirt. It was very much an adult, career-woman dress, she thought wryly, no shades of the teenager in skimpy beach wear. Life had moved on for her, too.

He broke out of his stillness, his shoulders visibly squaring, chin lifting in a dismissive jerk. “Forgive me for staring. It must be the likeness to Kimberly. The eyes. Same unusual shade of green. It feels...uncanny,” he said in an awkward rush.

“I thought she was more like...”

You.

The word teetered on her tongue. She barely bit it back in time. Her heart somersaulted. Did he know? He wasn’t supposed to know. Meredith had no idea what it would mean to his life if he did. She quickly shook her head, dismissing the subject.

“I would have remembered if I’d ever met you,” he blurted out with emphatic certainty, his gaze skating over her, taking in the line and length of her, each finely drawn feature of her face. His brow puckered over the sense of recognition. “It has to be the eyes,” he murmured more to himself than her.

No, it’s all of me, Meredith silently cried, fiercely wishing she could say it.

He shot her a smile that dizzied her with its appealing charm. “I have to confess this situation is like none other I’ve ever been in. I’m not usually so gauche.”

“Please...go on and sit down. Make yourself comfortable,” she invited, forcing herself to move to the kitchen doorway. Easier to cover the strain of this meeting with social conventions. “Can I get you a drink? I’ve opened a bottle of white wine if you’d like a glass, but if you’d prefer tea or coffee...?”

He hesitated, then with an air of playing for time, asked, “Will you have some wine with me?”

“Yes.” Why not? She wanted time with him, too, however futile and hurtful it might be.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

She took the bottle from the refrigerator, glad to have something to do. His presence had her nerves jangling. What did he want here? Why had he come?

He didn’t sit down. He prowled around, glancing over the contents of her bookcases, taking in the twilight view of the ocean beyond Balmoral Beach from the picture windows behind her lounge suite, eyeing the floral arrangements she’d done for herself, matching them against her furnishings. She’d been pleased with their artistic simplicity. Was he impressed? she wondered. What was he gleaning from this detailed observation of her personal environment?

Strange to think she would never have become a florist but for being pregnant so young, having to drop out of school and being shuttled out of sight to her stepmother’s sister in Sydney. Ironic how one thing had led to another, the unpaid apprenticeship in her stepaunt’s shop giving her the interest and training to develop a talent she had eventually turned into a successful business.

“Do you share this apartment?” Nick Hamilton asked, tense and ill at ease with the question but asking it nonetheless.

“No,” she replied. “It’s all mine,” she added with a touch of pride, knowing that the home she’d created here proved she was a woman of independent means.

She’d taken her time, selecting what she wanted to live with. The deeply cushioned, squashy leather sofa and chairs were cream so she could dress them up with the multicoloured tapestry cushions she’d stitched over many lonely nights. The wood of the bookshelves and desk was a blond ash, as were the sidetables and her small, four-chair dining suite. The carpet was a dusky pink mushroom.

She’d wanted everything soft and light, uplifting and cosy. It suited her. She fiercely told herself whatever he thought didn’t matter. He’d dropped out of her life thirteen years ago and had no right to walk back into it and be critical of anything.

She pushed his glass of wine across the kitchen counter which was open to the living area. “Your drink.”

“Thank you. You haven’t married?” His eyes were sharply curious and calculating as he came toward her to pick up the wine.

The highly personal inquiry niggled Meredith. He’d spoiled her for any other man and she resented the implication she might have had a free ride on a husband’s income. “No. I didn’t get this place from a man, Mr. Hamilton,” she answered tersely. “I’ve made my own way through a lot of hard work and a bit of luck. Did you achieve whatever you’ve got through a woman?”

In a way he had, his sister protecting him from even knowing about a responsibility he had incurred. He’d been left free to prosper in his chosen career instead of being saddled with a young wife and baby. Denise Graham had not only ensured he had every chance to succeed, she’d kept his child for him, too.

He looked abashed. “I didn’t mean to suggest...”

Resentment over his intrusion in her life now—far too late—brought a surge of impatience with his purpose. “Just why are you checking me out?” she demanded bluntly. “What answers are you looking for?”

He grimaced at her directness. “I guess you could say we’re both faced with a highly delicate situation. I’m trying to ascertain what your attitude might be toward a meeting with Kimberly. Whether it would intrude negatively on the life you have now.”

Her mind reeled at the incredible import of what he was saying. A meeting with her daughter? She’d barely dared to hope for it some time in the future when Kimberly was old enough to be her own person. How could this be when she was only twelve?

“Your sister will allow it?” Her throat had gone so dry her voice was a raw croak. Her eyes clung to his in a torment of doubt.

“My sister and her husband were killed in a car accident a year ago. Just before Christmas,” he stated quietly. “Kimberly has been in my care ever since.”

Shock rolled through her in mind-blowing, heart-wrenching waves. Denise and Colin Graham dead. Since before Christmas last year. And all this time she’d been thinking of them, picturing them going about their lives in their family unit, enjoying all she couldn’t enjoy with their daughter. A year! Her daughter had been without a mother, without her adoptive parents, for a whole year!

“I was appointed her legal guardian,” Nick Hamilton went on, apparently still unaware he was Kimberly’s natural father. His gaze seemed to tunnel into her mind as he added, “I didn’t know about you. Didn’t know there was any contact between you and my sister.”

Meredith closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear his non-knowledge of her. And death could have sealed those secret, intimate links forever. It made her sick to think of it.

“Only today did I get your address from the solicitor.” His voice strained now, strained with all he didn’t know and the fear of the unknown. “He didn’t want to give it to me. He argued that Denise’s death closed the personal connection between the two of you. He advised against my picking it up.”

Fear of the consequences...dear God! The roads that had been travelled to this point! And he was afraid of letting her in to their lives!

“Why did you?” she asked faintly, trying to suppress the bitterness of having no legal rights. Even when the adoptive parents were dead, she couldn’t make a claim on her own child.

“For Kimberly. She wants...”

Meredith lifted her lashes enough to see his grimace. He didn’t like this. Didn’t want it. He’d come against the solicitor’s advice, against his own better judgment. His chest rose and felt as he expelled a long, ragged sigh.

“She wants...her real mother...for Christmas,” he finished flatly.

For Christmas.

Only for Christmas.

A limited encounter... just like with her father. Limited...time out of time to cherish...treasure... haunt. The pain of the limitation sucked the blood from her brain. She clutched at the kitchen counter but couldn’t summon the strength to hold on as she slid into dark oblivion.

CHAPTER THREE

NICK picked her up from the kitchen floor and cradled her against his chest. A pins and needles sensation attacked his whole body. It wasn’t the effort of carrying her weight. She was not a big woman despite her above-average height. It was the way she seemed to nestle in his arms, her head dropping onto his shoulder as though it belonged there, her long hair flowing across his throat, skeins of silk somehow entangling him with feelings his brain couldn’t compute at all. They didn’t make sense. At least... not a sense he was ready to acknowledge.

It was too crazy... too beyond rational explanation. He hadn’t met her before. He knew he hadn’t. Her eyes being the same as Kimberly’s was not the answer, either. Kimberly was a child. Meredith Palmer was a woman. How did a woman he didn’t know get to walk through his dreams? And to have her materialise in front of him...real flesh and blood...every line of her hauntingly familiar to him... Nick was hopelessly distracted from establishing what he’d come here to do.

He should have approached the salient facts more obliquely, been more sensitive to their impact on her. It was obvious she’d been stressed at not receiving the packet from Denise and his appearance on the scene must have agitated her further despite the reassurance he’d tried to give. Here she was in a dead faint, all because he’d responded without giving enough thought to how it would affect her, and he was still caught up in how she affected him!

Instead of standing in her kitchen like a dumb ox, holding her in his own personal daze, he should be doing something constructive about bringing her back to consciousness. He forced his mind to focus on practicalities.

The sofa in her living room was only a two-seater, not large enough to lay her out comfortably. Bedroom and bathroom had to be nearby. A door stood slightly ajar near one of the bookcases. He carried her to it and manoeuvred her into what proved to be her bedroom.

She was beginning to stir as he lowered her onto the bed, her head rolling restlessly, as though in blind search of something lost. A low moan of longing or some deep inner torment issued from her throat and tugged at his heart. He grasped her hand, his fingers curling tightly around hers, pressing his warmth and strength, wanting to impart she was not alone.

Thinking he should probably get her a glass of water, he glanced around, looking for a door into an ensuite bathroom. And shock hit him again.

The walls were covered with photographs of Kimberly!

Montages of each year of his niece’s life hung in frames, interspersed with blow-ups of what were particularly good shots of her, capturing a highly expressive look that seemed to bring her personality stunningly, vibrantly alive in this room.

It was eerie, seeing Kimberly in such close focus from babyhood onward. Nick had seen most of the photographs before at various times, but never in this kind of concentration. The collection, so overwhelmingly displayed, suddenly seemed to smack of unhealthy obsessiveness.

Kimberly’s plea...if my real mother wants me... became an absurd understatement in the face of so much visual evidence of wanting. Nick’s head buzzed with a confusion of moral and legal rights. Kimberly was family to him, yet how much more was she to this woman who had given her birth? What if Kimberly’s desire to meet her was capricious? What was he setting in motion here?

The warning given by Hector Burnside, Denise’s old solicitor, started ringing in Nick’s ears. Leave well enough alone. You don’t know what you might be walking into. It could be dangerous ground.

Maybe he should have heeded the advice of a man who had seen all sides of human nature in his line of work. Nick shook his head over the dilemma he now found himself in. He’d promised Kimberly an answer from her real mother. In choosing to follow that course, he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped into a dream or a nightmare. Either way, it was too late to walk out of it.

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WAS holding her hand.

The physical link generated a flood of warm feeling that drove away the chilling fear of the unknown and soothed the whirling chaos in her mind. She hadn’t died and moved on to where impossible things were possible. She wasn’t dreaming. Nick Hamilton’s hand pressed solid substance in a world that had shifted too fast for Meredith to retain a grip on it herself.

The initial confusion of finding herself on her bed, with him sitting beside her, quickly cleared as she remembered what had gone before. “I must have fainted,” she croaked in surprise.

Her voice startled him out of the private reverie he’d fallen into. His head jerked around to face her. His eyes had a dazed look. “Yes,” he said, his focus sharpening. “You still look pale. Would you like a drink of water?”

She started to prop herself up on her elbow. The room reeled. She fell back on the pillows, hopelessly dizzy. “Yes, please. It might help.” She closed her eyes, fighting a wave of nausea. “Sorry...”

“My fault.” His weight shifted off the bed. “Be right back.”

A combination of shock with too much wine on an empty stomach, Meredith reasoned, wishing she’d had the sense to eat properly. She didn’t want Nick Hamilton thinking she was sickly and unable to cope with difficult situations. He might think bet ter of her meeting Kimberly for even a short time.

The longing to see her daughter in the flesh rose so strongly, it overrode every other consideration. To actually see her, watch her in action, listen to her, hear how she felt about so many things... it would be worth any amount of heartache.

Fearing that the opening Nick Hamilton had offered might be withdrawn if his impression of her was negative, Meredith swung her legs off the bed and bent her head down to her knees, determined on regaining her equilibrium. By the time he returned with a glass of water, she had steadied enough to drink it.

The weight of liquid helped settle her stomach. As she put the emptied glass on the bedside table, she glanced up to thank him, only to find he wasn’t watching her. He was staring at the photographs on the wall and the grim set to his face did not reflect any pleasure in them.

Her heart sank as she realised what an overwhelming effect the display might have on someone who hadn’t seen it, who didn’t live with it. She didn’t expect others to understand her need for these all too few windows on the life of her lost child and she instinctively recoiled from having that deeply driven maternal need exposed.

“I didn’t invite you in here. I don’t invite anyone in here,” she burst out defensively.

The look he turned on her was so wary it made Meredith feel frantic. Was he in retreat from her? She made a floundering gesture at the photographs.

“I mean all this...it’s private,” she cried, desperate to win a sympathetic hearing. “You probably take Kimberly and everything about her for granted, having her around you all the time. This is the only way I have of seeing my child grow up.”

He shook his head, an appalled expression in his eyes, as though, until this moment, he hadn’t begun to comprehend the immense loss she’d borne since Kimberly’s birth.

“I gave her up because I thought it best for her. That doesn’t mean I love her any less,” Meredith asserted with vehement passion, trying to appeal to his sense of fairness.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I had no idea...no appreciation of...” He gestured apologetically. “I beg your pardon for not being more...prepared.”

The father of her child, appearing out of nowhere to suddenly hold out the chance of a reunion—more of a reunion than he knew—how could he have any idea what it meant to her? She ached all over just looking at him, having him near, bringing back the memories of her double grief.

He backed off a step, his face creased in pained concern. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy by bringing you in here. It was only to help. If you’d prefer to recover alone now...”

Anxiety sank its claws in. Was he seizing an opportunity to escape from a situation he was finding too fraught with emotion? Had she just ruined the one chance she might ever have of meeting her daughter? The last thing she wanted was to drive him away. So much was hanging in the balance. She sought frantically for ways to plead her cause and all she could come up with was to beg a stay of judgment.

“Please don’t go. I won’t collapse on you again.”

An aeon seemed to pass as his eyes bored into hers, searching, sifting, undecided as to what was right or wrong. His tension made hers worse. Every nerve in her body was strung tight, willing him to stay and talk until a more favourable position was reached.

“I’ll wait in the living room,” he said, clearly discomforted by the walls of photographs, the stark evidence of deprived motherhood and the overcharged atmosphere that had risen from its confrontation.

An intense wash of relief brought a hot flow of blood to Meredith’s cheeks. Hopefully it gave them a healthy-looking flush. “I’ll come with you,” she rushed out, afraid to let him out of her sight in case he had second thoughts. “It’s food I need. Once I’ve had something solid to eat I’m sure I’ll feel much better.”

She quickly pushed up from the bed, swaying slightly before finding her balance. He was beside her in an instant, ready to lend his support. Her eyes pleaded for belief as she assured him, “I’m not usually fragile.”

“Take my arm.” It was a firm command. “I’ll see you seated on your sofa. Then you can tell me what to do in your kitchen to assemble a meal for you.”

“I can manage,” she protested, intent on proving it.

“So can I,” he insisted, intent on taking control.

The need to show independent strength suddenly lost its importance. If she kept him busy with her now, she gained the time to impress him as a responsible person whom he could trust to act both sensibly and sensitively when it came to a meeting with Kimberly. It had to come to that. Had to.

She hooked her arm around his and felt his muscles harden as her hand slid over them. It made her feel skittish, uncertain if he was inwardly recoiling from her touch or reacting to it in the way he once had. Though it was madness to think of that now when so much else was at stake. Besides, the quickly sparked desires of youth hardly fitted into this picture.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t help being extremely aware of him as he matched his steps to hers in their walk to the living room. Her upper arm was tucked against the warm wall of his chest and their hips and thighs brushed, arousing little shivers of sensitivity that sharply reminded her of how intimate they had once been.

Breathing in his aftershave lotion—surely the same tangy scent he’d used then—tickled her nostrils, evoking the memory of how he’d brought all her senses incredibly alive that summer. Every smell had seemed exotic, every colour brighter, every sound magnified, every taste heightened, every touch...Meredith fiercely clamped down on that line of thought. It was stirring feelings she couldn’t afford.

It was a relief when Nick Hamilton deposited her on the sofa and dropped all physical contact with her. He took off so briskly for the kitchen, Meredith suspected it was a relief for him to have some distance between them, too, though his reasons were undoubtedly different. Getting on with the business he’d come about would be very much on his mind.

She watched him taking inventory of the contents of her refrigerator and called, “A sandwich will do. There’s bread in the fridge.”

Decisive and efficient in his movements, he set out a loaf of bread, butter, a packet of sliced cheese and tomatoes, then switched on the griller at the top of the stove. He was certainly kitchen trained, Meredith thought, and wondered how much he fended for himself. Was he married?

However pertinent the question was in the circumstances, Meredith shied away from it, reluctant to picture him with a wife. Then she remembered the misery of trying to get along with her stepmother and wondered if Kimberly was suffering the same problem, having lost the parents who had brought her up and then been landed on a woman who had no deep caring for her, a woman who was only there because she was attached to Nick Hamilton.

Meredith knew from first-hand experience how unwanted a girl of Kimberly’s age could feel, given such a situation. And it stood to reason that something had to be prompting the desire to meet her real mother. It also stood to reason that a man as attractive as Nick Hamilton would not be without a woman.

Another question sprang to mind. How did Kimberly know about her? Surely it would be uncharacteristic of Denise Graham to reveal anything about Kimberly’s real mother to the child she was bringing up as her own daughter. It struck Meredith that Nick Hamilton might have more to answer for than he’d like to admit.

“How long has Kimberly known she was adopted?” she asked, feeling the knowledge had to have come after the death of her adoptive parents.

“She found out a week before the car accident that killed Denise and Colin,” he answered flatly.

Found out? Dear Heaven! Had the resulting upset contributed to the accident?

Nick Hamilton’s dark gaze lifted briefly from the bread he was buttering, a heavy sadness dulling his eyes. “Apparently Denise was sorting through photographs and discussing with Colin which ones to send to you. Kimberly overheard them and pieced the information together.” He frowned. “She has a bad habit of eavesdropping. Perhaps being an only child...no sibling to talk to...”

“Did she confront them with it?” Meredith broke in anxiously, imagining the guilt her daughter might feel if there’d been arguments.

He shook his head. “She wanted to think about it. Work out what it meant to her.”

A lot of inner turmoil there, Meredith thought, though it was a relief to learn there had been no open conflict for which Kimberly might blame herself.

“Then her world came crashing down,” Nick Hamilton continued, “and there were so many changes for her to take on, I guess she clung to what was safely familiar rather than pursue what probably seemed like an intangible dream.”

“So you didn’t talk to her about it?”

“I thought it better not to. She had enough trauma losing one set of parents, let alone two.” He grimaced. “She kept it to herself until a few days ago.”

Holding such a big secret all that time...holding it in reserve, Meredith thought, and wondered how often her daughter might have fantasised about another life as she tried living with the man who had been legally appointed her guardian, a man who was only an uncle by adoption. Or did Kimberly instinctively feel more closely bonded to him...her real father?

Was there an innate tie of blood, whether it was known or not? Would her daughter feel she was a total stranger or would there be an instant, intuitive link between them? The need to know pounded through Meredith, bringing a wave of excitement, of almost unbearable anticipation. It was difficult to contain it but she sternly told herself she had to while a meeting was still not settled.

She watched the only man she had ever loved place the sandwiches he was intent on toasting under the griller and tried to imagine what he was feeling about Kimberly’s request, coming virtually out of nowhere. He would not have been prepared for that, either. But Nick Hamilton was no dodger of delicate issues. He faced them and dealt with them according to his sense of rightness. It was that very quality of character Meredith had implicitly believed in when she had found herself pregnant.

“You think a rich college boy is going to stand by you?” her stepmother had mocked. “He skipped out fast enough when I told him your age. A guy like that doesn’t want to be shackled to a sixteen-year-old country girl who was no more than a Christmas vacation fling to him.”

He hadn’t skipped out. Meredith hadn’t thought it then and she didn’t think it now.

It had shocked him when her stepmother had confronted him with how young she was. Meredith had let him assume she was older, knowing she could easily pass for nineteen and desperately wanting to go with him wherever he wanted to take her. She’d argued to herself that love had nothing to do with age.

But Nick had faced the issues squarely and laid them out to her. She still had two more years of school plus tertiary education after that, if she wanted it. There was so much more for her to do and experience and think about before tying herself to anyone or anything. She should be free to make the choices that would best suit her. The love they felt for each other could be recaptured when she was older. He didn’t feel right about taking up her life while she still had so much in front of her.

He had given her his address and suggested they send each other Christmas cards if they both wanted to keep the connection going. No commitment. But there was no harm in maintaining a friendly communication once a year. When she was twenty-one...

“Isn’t eighteen old enough?” she’d protested, devastated at the thought of waiting so many years before they could be lovers again.

“It wouldn’t be fair,” he’d answered ruefully. “Any more than it would be fair of me to stay on here, Merry. The more deeply we get involved the harder it will be to part.”

He’d gone that very day, the day after her stepmother had discovered them making love on the back veranda and created such an ugly scene, accusing Nick of taking advantage of a girl who was barely past being a minor. Despite his shock, Nick hadn’t allowed her stepmother to turn what had been beautiful into something low and dirty. And though he had left her, it wasn’t without the promise of a future for them...if their love held true. Giving her his address was proof of his good faith. He wouldn’t have done that if he was skipping out on her.

Meredith had known her pregnancy would come as another shock to him. He’d taken precautions every time they’d made love. How they’d failed she didn’t know but she’d had no doubt Nick would stand by her. He was kind and caring and responsible and honourable. She couldn’t imagine him letting her down.

It hurt, even now, thinking back to the Christmas after the birth of their baby. Secretly, she’d been so sure a Christmas card would come from him. Even though he was overseas in America, he would think of her and write and then she’d have a contact address and be able to write back, telling him what had happened. She had dreamed of him flying home and reclaiming their child from his sister. They’d be married and...but no Christmas card had come from him.

The only communication had been the first promised packet of photographs from his sister.

So had begun the painful process of accepting that Denise Graham had told the truth about his losing all memory of the time they’d spent together. Or that Nick had put her out of his life. Either way, it was too late to change her mind about giving up her baby daughter. That decision was irrevocable.

But some dreams refused to die. A year later she’d succumbed to the temptation of going to the address Nick had given her, the Grahams’ address, hoping to see him since his two years in the U.S. were up, wanting the chance to know for certain how matters stood between them. The Grahams had moved. None of their neighbours knew where they’d gone. The one avenue she’d had to him was closed.

She’d told herself to get on with her life, and she had, but for a long, long time the dream had persisted that he would turn up one day and make everything right again. And here he was, but with no memory of her, and trying to make things right for the child he thought of as his niece.

He emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate of toasted sandwiches, and Meredith steeled herself to keep a calm composure, determined on convincing him she would do what was best for Kimberly, the welfare and happiness of her daughter being her first consideration. But she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering over him, nor could she quell the wish for some sign of the love they had once shared.

Her pulse quickened with each step he took toward her. As he bent to set the plate on the coffee table in front of her, her eyes feasted on his face, admiring the long thick sweep of his eyelashes—their daughter had inherited them—and retracing the sensual contours of his mouth, remembering the explosive passion of his kisses. Her muscles clenched, wanting the release he had once given them, and Meredith savagely berated herself for being unable to suppress the desires he stirred.

“Are you married?” she asked, driven to know if he was out of bounds to her. If he was, maybe she could put this intense distraction aside and concentrate solely on establishing time with Kimberly.

“No.” He flashed a sharp look at her before moving to settle in the armchair on the other side of the table.

Meredith struggled to maintain a natural air of inquiry. That one brief word eased the terrible tightness in her chest. It was like a song of hope in her ears. For a moment or two her mind danced with wonderful possibilities. Then the realities of today’s world crashed in, reminding her of the commonplace arrangements that didn’t require marriage.

“Do you live with...with a partner?” She couldn’t bring herself to say lover.

“No.” He sat facing her, watching her, and Meredith could only hope he couldn’t see she was giddy with relief. His expression was carefully schooled to give nothing of his thoughts away as he slowly added, “I employ a woman to come in weekdays and be there after school hours. She also looks after Kimberly whenever I’m out in the evening. She’s with her now. They get on quite well.”

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