A Heavenly Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер
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sort of way, and obviously physically fit, was a man in his early forties. And, from the little Shelley had said before her abrupt departure, the relationship between the two of them had been so fleeting the young girl had been doubtful that Ethan Sherbourne would even remember her!
To Olivia this whole situation seemed just so irresponsible. It was also one that could easily have been avoided. In her opinion, Ethan Sherbourne, with his obvious maturity, should have been the one to avoid it!
Selfish, Olivia instantly decided. Totally lacking in thought for anyone but himself and his own pleasure. He lived here, in sumptuous luxury, with a harem of women at his beck and call, while a young girl like Shelley, obviously not in the same financial bracket at all, by the look of her worn clothing, was left to bring up her child—and Ethan Sherbourne’s!—completely on her own. It was men like him who—
‘She had already disappeared by the time I got downstairs.’ A disgruntled Ethan Sherbourne strode forcefully into the apartment, slamming the door behind him.
‘Why didn’t you just follow her back to her home?’ Olivia reasoned—it was what she had expected him to do, after all.
‘For the simple reason that I have no idea where she lives!’ He scowled darkly at Olivia as she stood up with the baby held in her arms, now minus her blanket, hat and woollen outer suit. The pink Babygro that she wore beneath was slightly too large for her. ‘How old do you think she is?’ Ethan frowned.
Olivia raised blonde brows, already disgusted enough by the fact that he had no idea where Shelley lived without this too! ‘Don’t you know?’ After all, if the relationship had been as fleeting as Shelley had implied it was, then it shouldn’t be too difficult for Ethan Sherbourne to take a guess at his daughter’s age!
‘I would hardly have asked if I already knew, now, would I?’ he snapped, moving to the array of drinks that stood on the side dresser, pouring out a large measure of whisky into one of the glasses and taking a large swallow before holding the decanter up in invitation to Olivia.
‘No, thank you,’ she refused coldly; she didn’t think his getting drunk was going to help the situation at all!
‘Suit yourself.’ He shrugged before downing the rest of the whisky in the glass. ‘At a guess, I would say she’s somewhere between two and four months old,’ he decided.
Perhaps not so fleeting a relationship, after all. Certainly not the one-night-stand that Olivia had been imagining. ‘Her name is Andrea,’ she bit out caustically. ‘And I would agree—she’s about three months old.’
Ethan’s mouth twisted scornfully. ‘In your expert opinion?’
Olivia drew in a sharp breath at his insulting tone. ‘Now, look, Mr Sherbourne—’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, call me Ethan,’ he retorted impatiently. ‘After all, with Shelley’s abrupt departure, we seem to have been left joint custodians of a very young baby!’
‘We most certainly have not!’ Olivia walked determinedly across the room, putting the baby firmly into Ethan’s arms. ‘In her mother’s absence, Andrea is one hundred per cent your responsibility.’ She stepped back pointedly. ‘And, as such, I think you should be aware of the fact that Andrea needs her nappy changed,’ she added with satisfaction. ‘It’s probably the reason she’s so upset,’ she guessed shrewdly.
Ethan raised the tiny baby slightly, his nose wrinkling with distaste at the obvious aroma that came up to greet him.
‘I presume her nappies are in the bag—along with her food.’ Olivia moved to pick up the shoulder-bag Shelley had dropped earlier, unzipping it to find everything in there that baby Andrea would need for an indefinite stay: several changes of clothes, uncountable nappies, and enough formula and bottles to feed her for a week. ‘Here.’ She handed Ethan one of the tiny disposable nappies, wipes, and barrier cream, and was completely unsympathetic as he tried to balance those as well as hold the baby.
Dark brown eyes opened wide. ‘You expect me to change Andrea’s nappy?’ he said with obvious disbelief.
‘I don’t expect you to do anything,’ Olivia assured him lightly. ‘But I think Shelley does!’
Ethan gave up all pretence of holding on to the things she had just handed him, dropping them—but fortunately not the baby!—onto the carpeted floor. ‘Well, let me inform you—and Shelley too, if she were here—’
‘I think that’s probably the appropriate word—if Shelley were here,’ Olivia said sweetly. ‘Which she isn’t. Which only leaves you—’
‘And you,’ he pounced quickly.
‘No way.’ Olivia shook her head decisively. ‘Shelley obviously believes you are more than capable of caring for Andrea.’ Although in the same circumstances Olivia didn’t believe she would have been so positive! ‘I suggest you start fulfilling that belief by changing the baby’s nappy.’
Those dark brown eyes looked at her suspiciously. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ he finally said slowly.
When it came to the distressing circumstances of Shelley being put in a position where she didn’t know where else to turn to for help—no. But the fact that this arrogant Casanova had finally been given his comeuppance—yes, she was enjoying that!
Ethan Sherbourne was everything Olivia disliked in a man: arrogant, self-satisfied, too good-looking for his own and everyone else’s good. And on today’s evidence—totally amoral.
‘What I happen to think about this situation isn’t important,’ she dismissed. ‘Making the baby comfortable is, however. I’ll just get a towel from the bathroom for you to lie her down on.’ Which she did with no trouble whatsoever—the lay-out to this apartment was exactly the same as her own on the floor below. ‘There.’ She doubled the dark blue towel, placing it on the floor before looking expectantly at Ethan Sherbourne.
His cheeks were flushed as he scowled back at her darkly. ‘I am not—’ The baby began to cry once again. ‘Maybe I am,’ he muttered between clenched teeth, before moving down onto his knees and lying the baby gently down on the towel. ‘How do I get into this thing?’ He pulled ineffectually at the Babygro, turning the baby from side to side in his effort to find an opening.
‘There are usually poppers on the insides of the legs—Oh, for goodness’ sake…!’ Olivia showed her impatience as he lifted the baby’s legs to the left and then the right, almost turning the poor little thing over onto her face in the process. ‘She’s a baby, not a sack of potatoes!’ Olivia bit out as she dropped down onto her knees beside him.
‘Sacks of potatoes only need opening and the contents peeling—not having their nappies changed,’ Ethan muttered with distaste as Olivia easily released the hidden poppers and freed the baby from the lower half of the all-in-one garment before moving out of the way. The pungent aroma was much stronger now. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ he said a few minutes later, the soiled nappy discarded, one of the wipes held gingerly in his hand.
Olivia felt it diplomatic to take the nappy to the kitchen and dispose of it at that moment. Mainly because she didn’t think Ethan Sherbourne would appreciate seeing her bent over in hysterical laughter—at his expense!
He had looked so ridiculous kneeling there on the carpet, wearing what looked to be—and probably was!—a black silk shirt and tailored black trousers, as a happy Andrea blew bubbles up at him, her joyfully kicking legs making it difficult for him to finish what he had started.
If one of his harem could only see him now—if all of them could see him now—they might not be quite so available to him!
That thought had the effect of sobering Olivia, if nothing else. She washed her hands before returning to the sitting room, and came to an abrupt halt as she saw Andrea was still minus her nappy while Ethan Sherbourne lay on the carpet beside her, copying her bubble-blowing antics.
Olivia