‘No!’

‘Suit yourself.’ She rose and proffered the bundle in her arms. ‘But like it or not, this is your daughter, Dr Ethan. Her mother’s dead so that makes her all yours.’

To say Nate was dumbfounded was an understatement. He sat in his chair as if rooted to the spot and his head couldn’t take it in. He opened his mouth and what came out was feeble. ‘I don’t want a baby!’

‘I imagine you don’t. But you have one.’

‘This is ridiculous.’ He rose but he didn’t come around the desk. It was as if he was afraid to come close. This whole scenario was a nightmare. A ridiculous nightmare. And any minute he’d wake up. Please…

‘I told you…we were careful.’

‘Fiona was never careful.’

He took a deep breath, searching for control. Searching for sanity. Glancing down at his appointment list, he registered her name.

‘You’re Gemma Campbell.’

‘That’s right. Fiona’s sister.’ Her tone was almost uninterested and for the first time he realised why. She was here to hand over a baby and leave, he thought with a jolt of sick dismay. She was here to hand over a baby that had nothing to do with her-and everything to do with him.

‘And…and Fiona told you this…this baby was mine.’

‘She did.’ For the first time he saw the glimmer of a smile behind the weariness. ‘Though I might have guessed. Have a look for yourself.’ And she lifted the blanket away from the baby’s head.

It was all he could do not to gasp.

He’d seen baby photos of himself. He’d been born with the burnt red hair he had now. It was unusual hair-dark, tinged with black and curling into a thick mane. He had dark skin and green eyes and eyebrows that were definitely black.

He’d been a gorgeous baby, his mother had told him, and this baby was certainly that. Gorgeous.

She lay in her cocoon of blankets, one fist curled into a tiny ball at the edge of her rosebud mouth. She had tight, tight curls, a deep burnt red in colour, and her tiny, finely etched eyebrows were as black as…