Книга - For Their Baby

For Their Baby
Kathleen O'Brien


One night. That's all Kitty Hemmings wants. An escape from her heartaches. So what if guarded David Gerard is the type of man she doesn't usually trust? He's also kind, sexy…and looking for his own temporary escape.Eight weeks later, Kitty's running again. This time to San Francisco to tell David he's going to be a father. His solution? Get married. Not the answer in Kitty's eyes. Their compromise? Moving in together.Turns out that arrangement isn't exactly working, either. Because the longer they're together, the more she craves that essential step they skipped: the falling-in-love part. Yet she can't forget why David is with her. But maybe if she gives their unconventional relationship a chance, he just might surprise her….









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 KOBrien@aol.com. Or let’s be friends on Facebook! See you online!

Warmly,

Kathleen O’Brien




For Their Baby

Kathleen O’Brien





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://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 cherries,” he said, then flicked his tongue over his lower lip. “That’s all I’m interested in. The boys and I made a little bet over there. About whether you’ve still got one.”

Kitty considered pretending she didn’t understand. That was usually her first resort. But she could already feel her blood in her ears. It sounded like the incoming tide. He couldn’t imagine what a really bad time he’d picked to get nasty. She needed this job, but she was inches from either bursting into tears or breaking his ugly nose.

They’d both get her disciplined, but the nose option would at least feel good. She hadn’t cried in eight years, and, by God, she didn’t intend to start tonight.

She scanned the tables, the dance floor, even the artificially lit beach, looking for Jill. Jill actually thought this guy was cute. And Jill owed her—Kitty had covered for her about half a dozen times lately, when Jill wanted to slip out with some hunky customer she’d just met.

But Jill was nowhere to be seen. As usual. That meant the bouncer, one of Jill’s lovers this week, was also MIA.

“Look, the bar always has plenty of cherries,” Kitty said, though her teeth would hardly open to let the words through. “Let that be enough, okay? Just play nice, and tell me what’s—”

“No, no, not the bar.” He winked. “See, honey, we’re thinking you can’t be more than, what…maybe nineteen? We think that green hair, that eyebrow ring…they’re just for show, to cover up that baby face. Come on, baby face. We think maybe you’ve still got a cherry.”

Bastard.

She was twenty-six years old, and felt every year of it, so the “nineteen” comment was pure hogwash. And “baby face” was what Jim Oliphant had loved to call her.

She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Well, let’s see, honey. What I’ve got…I’ve got a low tolerance for butt-ugly morons and a big, fat can of pepper spray.” She glanced at his crotch. “Any of that make you feel spiffy, Slim?”

His bloodshot eyes hardened as he processed the insult. “What the—” He reached out, as if to grab her arm. “I’ll have your job, you little—”

Technically, this wasn’t a problem. She’d been a bartender less than a year, working her way up from waitress. The first thing you learned, though, was how to handle a drunk. But as she saw his meaty hand move toward her, something snapped and she found it hard to breathe. She inhaled, but choked on the tears she’d been trying to hold back. Suddenly all she could see were sparkling crystals, fracturing the colored lights strung between the poles that held up the bar tent.

Oh, God. She was losing it. Where was the bouncer? Fumbling with her apron, she turned, made an inarticulate sound and started to head for the beach.

“Hey!”

She glanced over her shoulder—he was coming around the bar, head lowered like a bull. An icy feeling spread between her shoulder blades.

And then, out of nowhere, another man was standing in his path.

“Steady, now,” she heard the other man say as he put a palm against the charging bull’s chest. “I think the lady needs—”

She didn’t hear the end of the sentence. She saw her chance, and she took it. She walked fast, and then faster, until she was running. She ran beyond the party lights, through the bright landscape spots that turned the incoming tide to a frothy milkshake, and finally into the darkness of the natural night.

Even when she’d left the noisy bar far behind, she didn’t stop. The Sugarwater Resort was built on a crescent-shaped spit of beach, and she blindly traced its eastern curve. When the soft piles of sand got too thick, she kicked off her sandals and continued to run.

Though her lungs burned, she kept going until she found herself where no lowly bartender should be, out at the very tip, beside the luxury cottages that were rented only by the month, only to people who never asked “How much?”

She finally ran out of steam, and beach, at the last stand of palm trees. She looked around, as if she thought there might be another way out, but of course there wasn’t. The ocean was just a yard or two from her toes. Its dull, scraping sweep was louder than the blood that roared in her ears. She tried to focus on the sound. She tried to find something steady, something to hang on to.

But it was hopeless. She’d run as far as she could, as far as there was, and she hadn’t outrun the memories or the fury. Without her permission, hot liquid began to stream down her cheeks. She pushed her fingers against her eyes, as if she could force the tears back.

No, no. She wasn’t this weak. She was tough, and in control of her life, her body, even her tears. She wasn’t afraid of Mr. Sleazy. She wasn’t afraid of any man. She wasn’t afraid of anything.

But damn Jim Oliphant. Damn him for exiling her from the home she loved, the home that held the memories of her father, who would never have let anyone treat her like…

With a strangled sound, she dropped to her knees. The sand gave under her weight, and then, at the last minute, something sharp bit into her skin. Heat flashed up her leg like lightning. She rocked back on one heel, shocked by the pain, and lifted the other shin.

She must have landed on a sharp shell. Or a broken bottle. Blood—it had to be blood, though it looked black in the moonlight—seeped from a curved gash along the fleshy edge of her shin. And it hurt. It hurt like hell.

“Are you okay?”

She looked up, glaring, furious with herself that she hadn’t heard the man approaching her along the beach. What if it had been that sleazy jerk, arriving for another round? Men like that were gluttons for punishment.

But it wasn’t. Instead, it was the man who had stood in his way, giving her a chance to get free. Now that she was thinking clearly, she realized she knew him—all the female bartenders did. Their nickname for this guy was Gorgeous.

Blond. Blue-eyed. Six-one, with the body of a god, and an endearing way of seeming unaware of any of that.

His real name was David Gerard, and for the past few weeks he’d been renting one of the premium cottages, the best of the best, right here on the tip of the crescent. She’d processed his room card a dozen times or more at the bar, but he’d never hit on her. Oddly, he never hit on anybody. She’d seen about a dozen different big-breasted blondes try their darnedest to snag him, if only for one night, but he always brushed them off gracefully and left the bar alone.

It was kind of fascinating, actually. He ate dinner at the beachside bar every night, as if he were looking for someone, but he never hooked up. He nursed a couple of beers for hours, and spent the rest of the night throwing darts with the oldest, loneliest regular in the place.

They all wondered what his story was. Kitty said he acted like a guy with a broken heart. Jill disagreed. Any woman lucky enough to get her hands on that heart, she said, putting a wry stress on the word heart, would be careful not to let it slip away.

Kitty wondered why he’d followed her out here.

“I’m fine,” she said now, and pulled herself to her feet. Grimacing, she brushed the bloody sand from her leg, then wished she’d dealt with her face first. She lifted her chin, daring him to mention the tears. “It’s just my shin. I think I fell on something.”

He bent down and took her calf between his hands. He didn’t seem alarmed, but his grip was firm. “Let’s get into the light. My cottage is right behind us. Can you walk?”

“Of course,” she said, but the first weight she put on the leg made it sting. “It’s no big deal. I should just go back to—”

“No. My place is right here. So is my car. If you need stitches, I can drive you to the E.R.”

She glanced back toward the hotel, registering how far away the service dorms really were. “Fine. I mean…yeah, okay. Thanks.”

She saw him smile as he lifted her arm and put it over his shoulder. She knew she sounded edgy and ungrateful, but, damn it, she felt like such a fool. There she’d been, ranting about how tough and independent she was…

Sugarwater’s luxury cottages were impressive, but luckily she’d seen the interiors before, so she didn’t embarrass herself by gasping or gawking. He flicked on the living room light switch—she noticed it was set to the recessed mood lighting, which didn’t compete with the view of the ocean through the big picture window.

He deposited her on the wide leather sofa, then fiddled a few minutes in the wet bar behind her. When he returned, he had a plain brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide, some gauze and a bandage.

She stared. “You keep a first aid kit in the bar?”

He laughed, but he was already down on one knee in front of her, gently cleaning off the cut. “Yeah, well, I put a gash in my own leg the first week I was here. Apparently I still can’t surf worth a darn.” He smiled up at her. “Ten stitches. Just came out a week or so ago.”

She smiled in spite of herself. He didn’t seem clumsy. His hands felt sure. And kind.

He went through several pieces of gauze, all of which came away bloody and crumpled. He used the peroxide liberally, and thin, pink blood inched down her calf in dotted lines. He wiped it clean, with light strokes that made her feel strangely warm and tingly.

God. Just how weak was she tonight? Was she actually letting this Boy Scout routine turn her on?

It took a while, as he was clearly conscientious. But it wasn’t all vaguely erotic TLC. Some of it was pure, sensible first aid business. She flinched as he scrubbed away a few last grains of sand.

“Sorry,” he said. He bent closer and probed with careful fingers. Then he dabbed one last time and started peeling the plastic backing from a large square bandage.

“It’s not as bad as it looked. No need for stitches, probably. But you’re going to want to get a tetanus shot.”

“I had one a few months ago,” she said. Her voice sounded husky, and she cleared her throat. “When you work around here, you don’t take risks.”

He nodded. “Good.” He wadded up the used gauze and got up to put it in the trash can behind the bar. Then he ran water to wash his hands.

“How about you?”

She swiveled.

He was pointing to the military lineup of booze along the glass wall. The standard new-guest stock that came with the cottage. It didn’t seem to have been touched, though David had been here several weeks. “Want something to take the edge off?”

For a minute, she didn’t answer. Surrounded by sparkling crystal, he looked like the suave, unattainable hero of every movie she’d ever seen. So easy, so comfortable in his own skin, dressed casually in khakis and blue polo shirt, which probably hadn’t been chosen to set off his taut chest and sexy hips, but did anyhow.

Something inside her stirred. It shifted restlessly. Something that had been asleep for a long, long time.

She tried to ignore it. He was too good-looking. She didn’t trust such handsome men. His blond hair seemed to gleam, and his perfect profile was both manly and beautiful. And, yet, in some indescribable way, he didn’t seem like…like the rest of them.

But that was ridiculous. Green-haired bartenders with edgy pasts were undoubtedly not his type, and Boy Scout gods weren’t hers. And yet…that restless spot inside her felt odd, as if it were being tugged toward him. She wondered if he felt it, too. Something in his eyes made her think he might.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I don’t drink.”

“Water, then.” He brought over two glasses straight from the subzero fridge and sat beside her on the sofa. “Here’s to a little peace and quiet for the rest of tonight. You’ve certainly earned it.”

They both unscrewed their caps and drank a toast. She found herself watching the column of his throat as he swallowed. His neck was bronze and manly, but without that thick, muscled look she hated. The Jim Oliphant look. In fact, he had the kind of body she was usually attracted to. Lean, simple, graceful. As if he would be good at tennis.

Or sex.

He was watching her, too. She felt a blush creep over her cheeks, and she was suddenly aware that their bodies were only inches apart, and that this sofa had obviously been designed for nights of impulsive passion. She wondered whether he’d brought her here with casual sex in mind.

If only he knew how long it had been since sex had been casual for her. She could tell him—almost to the day. Eight years. Of all the things Jim Oliphant had stolen from her, the easy acceptance of her sexuality was the thing she missed the most.

Since the day Jim had pulled his disgusting stunt, she’d had one lover. Just one, a quiet law student she’d met at her first waitressing job. In Atlanta, where she’d settled after she’d come to the end of nearly two years of running. She’d stayed there a whole year, letting Allen erase the memory of Jim’s grabbing hands.

Then Allen graduated, she had moved on…and she’d passed into a long, lonely five years, avoiding intimacy of any kind.

She turned away awkwardly and focused on the picture window. It framed a magical view. Just yards away, the ocean waves angled in, rolling toward the shore. Just before they broke, moonlight created a flashing vein of silver along the glassy curls.

She felt something silver winking deep inside her, as if a shaft of moonlight had penetrated her own murky layers of numbness and fear. It was almost as if somewhere, way down deep, below the scars, below the memory of Jim Oliphant, the real Kitty Hemmings still survived.

“You know, I didn’t thank you. For tonight. It was nice of you to…to step in.” She looked down at her water bottle, then risked a glance up at David. “Usually I handle jerks like that much more smoothly. It’s just that—I was rattled. You see, I got some bad news tonight.”

If he’d asked her what the news was, she probably would have clammed up. But he didn’t. He just waited. Serious. Attentive.

“I found out my mother is going to marry a guy I can’t stand. A very bad guy. I’ve told her about him, but she doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t want to believe me.”

David frowned slightly, but he still had the sense not to speak.

“The hard part is…just tonight I’d been thinking maybe I could go home soon. I’ve been here—or somewhere—for eight years now. I’ve started to get homesick. But now…now that he’s going to be there permanently, I can’t go home. Not ever.”

He was silent for a minute longer.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That must be hard.”

She nodded, wondering why she was unburdening herself like this. He couldn’t care. He didn’t even know her last name, which they never printed on the name tags, for “security” purposes.

But maybe that was why it was possible to speak the truth. He didn’t know her. He couldn’t judge her. And he didn’t seem the judgmental type, anyhow. He actually seemed surprisingly kind.

“It’s even more painful than I thought it would be,” she went on. “I don’t know why. I knew my mother didn’t believe me about Jim. I knew he was still in her life. Logically, this engagement thing shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think pain responds very well to logic. I—” He smiled over at her, a strangely sad smile. “It hasn’t been the best day in my world, either.”

Now it was her turn to wait. She wondered whether this was it…the answer to the question the staff had all been asking. Why did such a hunky, gorgeous guy always look so haunted and alone?

He turned his glass, watching the light glimmer on the water. “A woman I used to be in love with married another man today. We broke up a long time ago, and it’s far from a shock. He’s a great guy, actually. We’re all friends now, and I’m actually even happy for her. I thought I could go, but at the last minute I couldn’t. I just…couldn’t.”

He let the explanation taper off. Their gazes held, though, and something invisible arced between them.

Then she knew he felt it, too. In spite of her green hair and her tough-girl attitude, in spite of the fact that someone this gorgeous clearly should spend all his time with beauty queens, he wanted her.

Correction. He wanted someone. For the first time since he’d arrived at the resort, the loneliness had overpowered him. His voice was calm, his body at ease, and yet she heard the undercurrent of confusion, of betrayal, of loss. It spoke to her, even more than his gentle hands or his bedroom eyes.

She considered the situation, well aware it was foolish to risk a one-night stand with a guest. And yet…it would be such a comfort, not to be alone for a while. Not to think about home, of Jim Oliphant, or where she would go next in this nomadic exile she’d chosen as a life.

This David Gerard was a good man. She could feel it. He was sensual, but gentle. And he was as haunted as she was.

Her father had a French phrase for someone like this, too. Âme perdue. A lost soul.

She hadn’t ever been able to master French, though she’d tried ever since her father’s death, hoping it would bring his memory closer. She wished her accent weren’t so awful. She might say that to David Gerard now.

Deux âmes perdues. Two lost souls.

Did it have to be more complicated than that? Just this once, couldn’t something be simple and sweet? He wanted her, and she wanted him, too. She wanted to make love to him. Right now. Tonight.

He was leaving tomorrow, she remembered suddenly.

A man who was leaving tomorrow was perfect. A night in his bed wouldn’t complicate anything, really. She would break this cycle of loneliness by sleeping with this lovely man, and maybe she’d wake up tomorrow lighter, easier in her own skin.

She felt the anger and bewilderment lift from her, like the sky lifting as the sun came up. Maybe her subconscious mind had guided her feet tonight, as she ran away from the bar. Maybe destiny had directed her here. Maybe it was fate.

The word startled her. Ordinarily, she didn’t believe in fate. Her mother did, and used that convenient imaginary entity to rationalize all kinds of self-destructive behavior. But, even though Kitty was a committed cynic, she couldn’t ignore this powerful feeling.

Look at the two of them, sitting on the sofa with sparks of lust going off like invisible fireworks. Two lonely people, two sets of painful memories that had reached an unbearable climax today. Each facing a long, miserable night of trying to forget.

She touched his upturned palm with her fingertips. His eyes darkened slightly, and a flash of electricity shimmered under her fingers, but otherwise he didn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” he said politely. “I didn’t mean to whine on about my problems. I must sound like an idiot.”

“No, you don’t.” She held his gaze and kept her fingers against his palm. “You sound like someone who doesn’t want to be alone tonight.”

He started to say something, then stopped. He closed his fingers around hers and shook his head. “No, don’t. This isn’t right. I didn’t… I promise you, I wasn’t looking for this. I didn’t follow you onto the beach hoping that—”

“I know you didn’t.” With her other hand, she reached out and touched his cheek. She had to lean over to do it. “Does that mean you don’t want it? Because I do. A lot.”

“I—” He frowned. “Wanting is…I don’t want to take advantage… It would be—”

“It would be lovely,” she said.

“Yes.” He closed his eyes, still frowning. “But—”

“Isn’t that enough? It doesn’t have to be complicated. You’re just a man, and I’m just a woman, and we’re hurting. But we can help each other tonight.”

“Listen.” His eyes fell to her name tag. “Kitty. You’re right. It’s a bad time for me, and I came to the Bahamas thinking maybe I could just—” He broke off and ran his free hand through his hair. “But now, with the way you’re feeling tonight, if I take—”

“You’re not taking from me any more than I would be taking from you. I want you, and I think you want me. There’s…something. You feel it, don’t you?” She took his hand and guided it to her breast, where her heart thudded with hunger. “Don’t you?”

She felt the heat of his palm through the cheap polyester of her uniform. He scanned her face with somber eyes. He took a long breath that seemed to catch on something as it entered his lungs.

“Of course I do,” he said. He grazed her cheek with one knuckle, and then, slowly, he bent his head down and whispered against her neck, “Yes. Of course I do.”

His breath was warm and sweet, and went through her like a honeyed summer breeze. She began to shiver as he dragged his mouth up her throat, and goose bumps cascaded down her body, all the way to her toes.

She had wondered whether, in the end, she would change her mind and back away, as she had done so often, but his sudden human warmth was blissful. Easy and, at the same time, thrilling. She groaned in hungry relief, and pressed her body closer, as close as she could get.

Take that, Jim Oliphant. She wasn’t ruined. She was still a woman, and she could still catch fire from a man’s touch. It just had to be the right man. The right touch.

David seemed to understand that she didn’t want him to waste time with a gentle seduction. She didn’t want to change her mind. He lowered his mouth over hers and took her parted lips. His kiss was fierce, and the inside of his mouth was hot and sweet.

She heard herself moan, and for just a flash she wondered…what was he going to think of her? They’d just met, and—

But she didn’t care. Tomorrow he’d disappear back into his real life, and she’d never see him again. He wasn’t David Gerard, and she wasn’t Kitty Hemmings. They were simply bodies, doing what healthy, hungry men and women did.

His hands slid across her back, down to her hips and up again, into her hair, and everything he touched tingled—her scalp, her ears, her spine, her arms.

She felt a sudden wetness under her eyes, but it wasn’t tears this time. She’d been frozen, and now she was melting. The ice water was seeping out, overflowing. She felt it around her heart, too, and between her legs.

She reached between their bodies and touched him, hoping she could urge him to hurry. She was ready. She’d been ready for years.

He was ready, too—she could feel how ready. But though she stroked that exciting, swollen warmth and traced the strong contours with her fingertips until she could hardly breathe, he never lost his focus.

His lips were still doing fiery things to her collarbone, even while his fingers found the metal pull to the zipper that ran down the front of her dress. Her stupid, too-tight, too-short bartender’s costume.

As the fabric peeled open, David bent his head further, kissing each new inch of exposed skin. The moonlight glistened on his dark blond hair, as if he’d been dusted with glitter.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and arched toward him. Oh, she wanted this so much. It might be midnight outside, but as he slipped the dress from her shoulders she felt suddenly full of sunshine. Her nerve endings sizzled, just like the ocean on a bright summer afternoon.

She reached out, tugging at his button, and he smiled. He shed his clothes quickly, without a trace of self-consciousness.

And why should he be self-conscious? He was amazing. She shut her eyes against the overwhelming beauty of him, and the power. He made every other man on the island look like a child.

Gently, he eased her back against the cool leather. They both knew that his bed was too far away, but it didn’t matter. Only the moon watched through the picture window, and the palms shifted in the breeze, throwing shadows across their bodies.

He got up long enough to find a condom, and soon, so soon, the moment had arrived. She tried not to think about it. She tried just to feel, and to let it flow through her.

His body was hard, intimidating in its primitive strength, but he was sensitive and gentle, and besides, in spite of the fear, her body ached for him. Those silver flashes exploded everywhere now, and her core was tugging toward him.

She felt him, so wondrously rigid and velvety at the same time, pressing against that tingling spot between her legs. Her lungs tightened. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She tried to find enough air to breathe.

He kissed her again, his tongue driving that spiced sweetness into her mouth, and she inhaled sharply. And then she let her knees fall apart to welcome him.

After that, for a very long time, nothing seemed quite linear or logical. She was all body, all sensation, with no brain to interfere. She was all aching and pushing, panting and exploring.

Finally, even the body was unnecessary. He had, with his amazing hands and his clever lips, unwound the spiraled fortress of that outer shell and found the vulnerable truth inside. She was sunshine and starlight and invisible currents that were ready to carry her to places she’d never been.

But at the very end, in that point-of-no-return moment before the currents took her away, like a fool she opened her eyes.

And David Gerard’s strong face was above her, gleaming with the sweat of their lovemaking. And so, as she twisted away into the most shattering climax she’d ever experienced, she was looking into his eyes. And God help her, he wasn’t just a man. He was this man. Âme perdue.

She wasn’t going to be able to forget him now.



DAVID WOKE in the purple hour before dawn, and he sensed immediately that he was alone.

He lifted up just enough to squint toward where her clothes had fallen. Nothing. The carpet was bare. His sweet, mysterious lover—he knew only that the name on her badge had been Kitty—was gone.

He fell back onto the couch, irrationally disappointed. Had he really expected her to stay all night? What, in fact, had he expected from any of this?

He sleepily relived the strange events that had led to…

To this.

If anyone had told him that he’d mark Belle Carson’s wedding day by picking up a tough-talking, green-haired bartender whose badass attitude barely covered up the fact that she was really a little girl lost, he’d have laughed in their faces.

If anyone had told him that the bartender would make crazy love with him until he collapsed and passed out stark naked on his own couch, he would have said they were crazy.

And if anyone had dared to suggest that, when he woke up, he’d still be hard as a rock and hungry for more, he’d…

But he was. He was exhausted, and yet he was fully aroused, still on fire, as if she’d cast a spell on him. Why the hell had she left? He wondered if the hotel would give him her room number. If he could stand the pain of putting on pants, maybe he could go and…

He laughed at himself. He couldn’t even walk right now, much less go out in public.

Could he find her before he’d have to leave for the airport? His plane was at two, which gave him…

Not long enough.

Not nearly long enough.

How much would it cost him to change his flight? He rolled on to his side and groaned as the cool leather pressed against the sensitive places.

He didn’t care if it was a thousand dollars. There was something about his little green-haired Kitty with no last name. Something clever and sexy…and something else, too. A haunting quality he couldn’t put a name to.

He remembered the look in her eyes as she made love to him. She’d been frightened, and at the same time so alive, so in love with the feeling. He could almost hear her whimper, and feel her pulsing helplessly around him. He groaned again. Oh, yeah. Once with that woman was definitely not enough.

And then, suddenly, as if his hunger had summoned her up, he felt the cushions bend, and he felt her warmth slide onto the sofa behind him. He felt her breasts press into his back as she spooned up against him. He sighed with pleasure, and more than a little relief.

She reached around and pressed her hands against his chest.

“Ahhh,” she said. She nipped his shoulder, purring in a delighted murmur.

Slowly, she began to slide her palms up and down, from collarbone to hips. For a moment, he shut his eyes and let the bliss wash over him.

“Kitty,” he said softly. He stilled her hands just below his rib cage, but he felt his control slipping.

“No,” a strange voice said, breaking the moment as brutally as a hammer shattering a mirror. “But obviously Kitty wasn’t exaggerating about you.”

He turned sharply, and faced a voluptuous brunette, dressed in the same bartender’s uniform that Kitty had worn. But different, so different…such dark, almond-shaped eyes over full, hungry lips.

“Kitty said you were a carnival ride like no other.” The woman licked the skin on his shoulder. “And now I see it’s true.”

It was the other bartender. Jill. He’d seen her a dozen times, pulling drafts and raking in big tips. She’d flirted with him, night after night, as she did with every male customer she encountered.

But what the hell was she doing here, on this sofa? And what did she mean, “Kitty said…”?

He sat up, grabbing her shoulders and moving her out of the way as he might have moved a child who had become a pest.

She chuckled softly, clearly undaunted, and reached out to smooth his tousled hair.

“Don’t you remember me, sweetheart? I’m Jill. Kitty said to say she’s sorry. She had to go, but she sent me to see if you needed anything…” Her eyes slid down. “Anything else.”




CHAPTER TWO


Eight weeks later

BY THE TIME the Brantley deposition was over, David Gerard couldn’t see anything but January’s darkness outside his law office window, and he was tired. Not just go-to-bed-early tired. The kind of disgusted bone-weariness that made people burn their houses, move to Costa Rica and spend the rest of their lives drinking piña coladas out of conch shells.

Unfortunately, he’d promised to take Marta Digiorno, a friend who also happened to be an attorney, out to dinner. They’d been circling the idea of dating for the past few weeks, though he wasn’t crazy about mixing the courthouse with pleasure. Tonight would be a trial balloon. Not quite a date, but not completely business, either.

“Do you think Barker and King will settle?” Marta stuffed file folders into the pocket of her briefcase, then sat on the edge of his desk and smiled. Amazingly, she didn’t look an iota less crisp and professional than she had at eight this morning, when they’d passed in the hall, each heading into the courthouse to take separate depositions.

She had a good legal mind, and David answered the question honestly. The chauvinistic weasels at Barker and King, Inc., had clearly discriminated against his client, a former employee who had been let go because she got pregnant.

“They should settle,” he said. “But they might not. They know the case is pro bono. They might think they can stonewall until we get tired of paying out of our own pockets.”

“Watch your pronouns,” she said, cocking one graceful eyebrow. “I’m not representing anyone for free. You’re the bleeding heart around here. So, any chance your heart feels sorry enough for a fellow lawyer to rub her tired feet?”

She kicked off her high heels and rested her left foot on his thigh.

Okay, that certainly shifted the evening squarely into the personal column. He hesitated, then decided he was being a fool. It had been two months since he’d had a date. Longer, really, because that Bahamas madness didn’t really qualify as a date.

Still…eight weeks since his vacation, when for the first time in his boring, Mr. Nice Guy life, he’d been propositioned by two women in one night. Not his usual style, not by a long shot. And sadly, not as exciting as people might think. Kind of foolish, actually, and, in the end, oddly depressing. Another prepubescent dream busted.

Anyhow, the green-haired bartender and her trashy friend, whom he’d tossed out of the cottage in about ten seconds without wasting much time on tact, were history. Belle Carson, who had been happily married eight weeks now, too, was also history.

Marta was smart, classy, witty and obviously interested. And she was here. So what was he waiting for?

Nothing. He nestled her heel in one hand and began flexing her long, slim toes with the other.

She leaned back, palms down on his desk, and let her eyes drift shut. “Mmm,” she said in a low purr. “Nice.”

A sudden commotion in the outer office stilled his hands. He glanced toward the closed door, not alarmed but curious. It was at least eight o’clock. He didn’t have any appointments tonight.

That is what his paralegal, Amanda, was clearly trying to tell someone. A woman, from the sound of it. A woman who was refusing to take no for an answer.

Within two seconds, his door flung open. A young female with crazy green curls stormed in, her eyes fiery and her head pushed forward, like a determined goose. Behind her, Amanda stood helplessly, hands up in defeat. “Miss—Miss, I told you Mr. Gerard is unavailable and—”

The young woman scowled over her shoulder at the paralegal. “And I told you I don’t care. What is it with you people? He’s not the president, for God’s sake!” Then she turned toward David, and he saw her face harden as she took in Marta lounging on the desk, her jacket on the chair, her foot cradled in David’s hands.

“Oh,” the newcomer said. “That kind of unavailable.”

David’s mind wasn’t working fast enough. He knew what he saw, or what he thought he saw, but it was so impossible his brain wouldn’t accept it. The hair was green, just like before. And the eyes…

He knew those eyes. And yet, how could it be? It couldn’t. It couldn’t be—

He’d called her “the green-haired bartender” in his mind so long he couldn’t, for a minute, remember her name.

Marta had already moved her foot and let her legs slide down, so he stood.

“Miss…” He took a breath. “Katie?”

But the instant he said it, he knew it was wrong. Not Katie. Kitty. Of course it was Kitty. In his mind, he could still see the white rectangle of her name tag, moving up and down as she panted…

What on earth was she doing here?

Her eyes narrowed. “Close,” she said icily. “Partial credit. It’s Kitty. Kitty Hemmings. You look surprised to see me. I guess this means none of your bodyguards called to give you a heads-up.”

“My what?”

“Your bodyguards. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all afternoon. But your receptionist, she’s not that friendly, is she? Neither is your housekeeper, for the record.”

She’d been to his house? Of course Bettina, who was a terrible snob, would have been rude to a visitor with green hair and…whatever that geometrically patterned green and pink sarong-like thing was supposed to be. Bettina was rude to him if he wore sweats or brought home fast food.

How had Kitty found his house? He hadn’t known her last name, and he wouldn’t have thought she knew his. In the end, though, how she’d found him was relatively unimportant. Relative, that is, to the real sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

Why had she found him?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Marta had slipped on her shoes, and she’d put on her game face, too. As he’d just been observing, Marta was smart as hell. She clearly knew something wasn’t right about this scene.

Half a dozen explanations raced through his head. Could Kitty need a job, a recommendation, a lawyer? Surely not. People didn’t expect their one-night stands to give them career references. His shoulder muscles tightened. Crap—had he picked up a stalker?

Or was she bringing bad news? An STD? He always, always used condoms. Blackmail? God help him, she wasn’t underage, was she? She looked mid-twenties, but you never knew these days. He’d assumed the bar wouldn’t employ anyone…

But assumptions could be lethal. Any good lawyer knew that.

“Of course. Kitty.” Years of poker-faced negotiations saved him from revealing the chill that ran through his veins. “How can I help you?”

It sounded stilted, almost rude. He saw her recoil slightly. But what the hell had she expected? Whatever he’d briefly, brainlessly, believed might be going on between them that night—he’d been wrong. He’d just been her flavor du jour, a tourist novelty to be shared with her horny girlfriends. Fine. He was a grown man. No one had held a gun to his head. No big deal.

But with that kind of cheap treat, no one came back for seconds.

“How can I help you?” he repeated. He didn’t change his tone.

“We need to talk,” she said flatly. Her gaze slid to Marta. “Alone.”

The other lawyer didn’t budge.

He touched Marta’s shoulder. “The reservations are for eight-thirty. If you go ahead now, we won’t lose the table. I’m sure this won’t take long. I can meet you at the restaurant.”

A frown line bisected Marta’s perfect, pale forehead. “David, it might be better if—”

“It’s fine.” He smiled. He hoped he was right. “I’ll meet you there.”

Marta nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. The room rang with silence as she gathered up her briefcase and her coat. She moved to the door, then turned.

She looked at David. “I’ll mention to security that you’re still in the office.”

“Oh, brother.” Kitty dropped her purse on the desk and crossed her arms. “He’s twice my size, and I’m not packing heat.” She glared at David. “But if you’re afraid to be alone with me, I’d be happy to have a group discussion. Invite security. Hey, invite everybody. The alone part was for your benefit, not mine.”

“It’s fine,” he said again, giving Marta a straight look. “Really.”

Marta knew he meant it. She slipped through the door, shutting it behind her.

And then he and Kitty were alone. With Marta gone, he was much more aware of her, of her deep, island tan and a scent with a hint of strawberry. For a minute, he could smell that little beachside bar again. Salt in the air, lemons and limes and kiwi fruit, an undercurrent of barbeque smoke.

She glanced around, and her frown deepened. “Nice office,” she said cryptically.

Did that mean she was surprised? By what? How dull it was? By the decorator-chosen beiges, the bland paintings that even Belle, who was ten times as conservative as Kitty, had hated? Had he seemed more interesting in the Bahamas?

Or was she surprised by how luxurious it was? Half his clients were pro bono, but the other half required impressing. So the decorator had hauled in solid mahogany paneling, carpet like velvet air, a marble bust of Thomas Jefferson for the corner. If Kitty had come for blackmail, this probably looked like the jackpot.

But something in him couldn’t believe that. What blackmail could possibly stick? He wasn’t married, and the sex had been consensual. Even if she’d caught the whole thing on tape, up to and including the second offer from her friend, he’d be nothing worse than embarrassed. Lunches at the University Club would be awkward for a while, with everyone asking why he’d turned down Lady Number Two, but he’d survive.

He watched Kitty as she roamed the room, proving it didn’t intimidate her. She even gave Jefferson an affectionate tap on the nose. But the gesture didn’t ring true. Her body looked tight, as if she were nervous, but hell-bent on hiding it. He wondered how rude Bettina had actually been. Or Amanda. Both women had maternal streaks where he was concerned.

He felt like a blind man playing a game of chess, aware of all the possible strategies, but unable to see the full board. He had no idea what her ultimate gambit was. Surely a polite neutrality was the best first move. No need to assume the worst.

“Would you like to sit down?”

Kitty turned. Her green eyes were bright, sparkling under the overhead fixture. Anger? Or tears?

“No. Thank you.” A hint of a smile played at her full mouth, and it wasn’t a reassuring look. “You might want to, though.”

Ah. Not good news, then. Of course not.

“Thanks for the warning.” He tilted his lips in an equally mirthless smile. “I think perhaps you’d better get to the point.”

“So you can make your reservations? So you can meet your date?” She glanced toward the door. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“I don’t see that my relationship with Marta is relevant.”

“How serious is this relationship? Was she your girlfriend when you…eight weeks ago?”

“Again,” he said, though he had to work to keep a patient tone, “I think you’ll need to establish the relevance before—”

“You want relevance?” She hadn’t ever unfolded her arms, and he saw her fingers tighten until the knuckles were white. “Okay, I’ll give you relevance.”

He waited. The room was so quiet he realized neither one of them was breathing. “I’m pregnant.”



THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Kitty nursed a glass of ice water in the restaurant of her hotel, trying to occupy herself by mentally critiquing the bartender. Unfortunately, because the hotel was half empty and down on its luck, nothing much was happening except the occasional request for an after-work beer.

She’d considered booking a room somewhere glitzy—a fancy hotel that would show David Gerard she wasn’t someone who could be pushed around. But that idea had evaporated after a nanosecond. She didn’t have much left in her savings, and she had no idea whether David was the type who might tell her to go to hell, and take the baby with her. She had to hang on to every penny.

Still, she had to do something to take her mind off the fact that he and his lawyer would be here in about five minutes. She was determined not to spend the time second-guessing what they might say.

She needed, more than anything else, to stay calm.

But…how could she have been such an idiot? How could she have let herself end up in such a wretched mess? Everyone knew sex with strangers was dumb. Everyone knew condoms weren’t foolproof.

Everyone except Kitty Hemmings and David Gerard, apparently. She’d seen the shock in his eyes when she announced that she was pregnant. And then she’d seen the cynicism, the disdain, the quick up-and-down glance that said he thought she was lying.

If only she were.

The last thing in the world she wanted was to have a baby right now. With her life so up in the air, no roots under her feet. With a man she barely knew. A man who thought she was, at best, a little island tramp and, at worst, a sociopathic gold digger.

But she was going to have a baby, and it was his, and he’d have to come to terms with the idea, just as she’d had to.

The restaurant door opened, letting in a long rectangle of light briefly, then shutting it out again as it closed. David was here.

Her heart lurched a little, partly fear, partly just the same reaction any female would have to someone that good-looking. And of course he’d brought the tallest, best-dressed lawyer in San Francisco, doubling the intimidation factor.

She held up a hand to help them find her, although she knew her green hair was as good as a neon sign. David glanced at the other man, who slowly nodded, his gaze piercing even from ten yards away.

She felt a blush creep over her cheeks.

Temper, temper. Getting mad at David wasn’t just counterproductive—it was unfair. He hadn’t forced her to have sex that night. Far from it. She was honest enough to admit it had been entirely her idea.

And he certainly hadn’t poked holes into the condom. He was just as shocked and confused as she’d been when she found out a couple of weeks ago. By bringing a lawyer, he clearly just intended to protect himself. What was wrong with that?

In the end, wasn’t that what she was doing, too? The only difference was, she was also protecting her child.

“Kitty.” He had reached the table, and managed to summon up a smile. That was nice, anyhow.

“David.” She didn’t rise or hold out her hand because it felt wrong. Everything about this meeting felt wrong.

“Kitty, this is my attorney and friend, Colby Malone. He’s advising me today.”

Malone didn’t seem to have any scruples about the standard courtesies. He probably dealt with awkward situations every day. He held out his hand with such authority it didn’t occur to her not to take it. “Hello, Ms. Hemmings. I hope you don’t mind if I sit in on the meeting.”

She shook her head. “No, of course not. Whatever.”

Both men sat, and Kitty shifted her glass over, just for something to do with her hands. What a pair. Their pictures were probably in the dictionary, illustrating the phrase “looks like a million bucks.”

Malone smiled at her, his eyes cool but kind. “Ms. Hemmings, David is—”

“No.” David lifted his palm. “Colby, thanks, but…let me.”

Malone hesitated briefly, then leaned back in his chair, putting his elbows on the padded arms to signal his easy agreement. “Of course. Sorry.”

David cleared his throat, then began.

“Kitty, I—”

The waitress, of course, took that moment to come by. The men ignored the woman’s flirtatious blinks and calmly ordered coffee. Kitty decided to get an order of unbuttered toast. For the past few weeks, her stomach had been unsteady, not just in the mornings and not just when she was arranging the future of her unborn child. She’d always heard what a tough time her mother had with pregnancy, and apparently she’d inherited the problem.

In fact, it was when she puked on Sugarwater’s best beach bar customer that she’d lost her job.

“Kitty.” David turned to her one more time. “I want you to know, right from the beginning, that if this baby is mine I don’t intend to shirk responsibility.”

She pressed her hands together in her lap. “If?”

David was careful not to glance at Malone, though Kitty could see that the other lawyer was listening very carefully to this part. He looked as serene as ever, but Kitty could sense the spiked awareness. He was ready to intervene should David utter a syllable that wasn’t in the script.

“I have to assume you’ve come to me because you’re looking for some kind of financial commitment. And if the baby is mine, you’ll get one. I don’t walk away from my mistakes. But first I’m going to need indisputable proof that this is my mistake.”

Malone’s eyes flickered. He might as well have groaned out loud. He obviously knew, even if David didn’t, how damned rude that sounded.

She felt her throat tightening. “No, David. First you need to wrap your mind around the idea that this is a child, not a mistake. And then, you need to take your legalese baloney and—”

“Ms. Hemmings.” Malone smiled again. “I think what David is trying to say—”

“I know what he’s trying to say. He’s trying to say I’m such a tramp the baby could be anyone’s. But I’m not, and it isn’t.” She looked at David. “Unless…you don’t have me mixed up with Jill, do you? I was the first one.”

Neither man looked surprised. That hurt, because it killed her last real hope that Jill had been lying when she said she’d gone to see David after Kitty left. It destroyed the illusion that David hadn’t really slept with Jill, too, as if he’d booked a room at an amusement park of sex.

But he wasn’t even trying to deny that there had been a second whirl on the roller coaster that night. Her heart hardened a little, processing its disappointment.

The unruffled demeanor of both men also answered another question: whether David had shared all the dirty details with Malone. She wondered when David had told him. Just today, to prepare for the meeting with her? Or eight weeks ago, when David had arrived home from the Bahamas with a good tan and a great locker-room story?

“I’m perfectly clear about the two of you,” David answered coldly. “But I have no idea what you might have done before that night, or in the eight weeks since.”

She scowled, then leaned forward, her mouth open, her cheeks as hot as if he’d held a match to them. “I don’t—”

“Kitty, listen,” David said, forestalling her. “I can understand why you might think I’m a fool, because I certainly acted like one in the Bahamas. But I’m not. Before I accept…” He stopped, and for the first time he looked uncertain. “I need to establish beyond a doubt that the child is mine.”

Suddenly she was precariously close to tears. Damn these hormones. She blinked hard and narrowed her eyes.

“Well, we’d better find a way to establish that in a hurry. I lost my job because of this pregnancy, although of course they cooked up some other excuse. And I don’t have insurance. This pregnancy isn’t going to be easy. I’m Rh negative, but you’re probably not, which is a problem. My mother had two miscarriages, and my family has seen three sets of twins in the past three generations. I’m not a high-risk pregnancy, but it’s not exactly a cakewalk, either. So if you think I’m going to see some quack at some third-rate charity clinic, where God only knows—”

“Hey.” He put his hand over hers. It was the first physical contact since that night, and even through her anger she sensed the warm sizzle of skin against skin. She moved her hand up onto the table. She didn’t want his pity pats.

“Kitty, please,” he said. “Relax. It’s absurd for us to—”

She lifted her chin. “Too late,” she said. “This whole thing is absurd, and believe me, I know it. But, still, here it is.”

David shook his head, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with such an emotional female. Well, let him try being pregnant. Let him try being jobless and homeless, and counting pennies, and waking up in the night doubting yourself, wondering if your own child would be better off adopted…

“There’s a test we can have done right away,” he said.

She frowned. “It’s too early for an amniocentesis.”

“I know, but—”

Everyone fell silent as the waitress set down coffee and toast. Great. The kitchen had buttered the toast, though Kitty had made a point of asking for it dry. Little greasy yellow puddles glistened on the brown surface. Nausea twisted Kitty’s stomach. She swallowed hard and pushed the toast to the side, out of sight behind the silver coffee carafe.

When they were alone again, Malone took over, as if handling Kitty were a relay race, and the baton had been passed to give David a rest.

“The test David’s referring to is called CVS, which stands for Chorionic Villus Sampling. It’s quick—a week, maybe ten days at most for the results. If it’s done properly, through an obstetrician we mutually agree upon, David will accept the results as definitive.”

She looked from one man to the other, wondering if she could trust any of this. Was she being set up for some kind of fall?

She hadn’t researched Colby Malone, of course, since she hadn’t known whom David would consult. But she had used Google to research the heck out of David, and she hadn’t found anything squalid or dishonest. In fact, at worst, he appeared to have an over-active social conscience. All kinds of charity functions and do-gooder lawsuits, lots of sober interviews in boring, peer-reviewed journals.

So apparently the indiscriminate sex had been an aberration. What happens in the Bahamas, and all that.

She had pretty strong feelings about the importance of a father in a child’s life, but still. If David had turned out to be a true sleazeball, she would never have breathed a word to him about the baby. She’d work five jobs if she had to, rather than saddle her child with an untrustworthy, deadbeat dad.

But David clearly was, with the occasional lapse, a good guy. He had a right to know he was about to be a father, and he had an obligation to assume his half of the responsibility.

The two men waited, apparently patiently, for her answer. Malone never seemed to look anything but pleasantly confident, but David’s face was tight and wary. Suspicious. She wondered if he hoped she’d refuse to submit to the test—which he could take as proof that her accusation had been a con from the start.

She breathed through her mouth, so that she didn’t smell the coffee, which suddenly seemed too bitter.

She’d heard of this CVS thing, read about it somewhere, maybe, but she hadn’t paid enough attention. Why should she have? She’d never imagined it could matter to her. “Are there risks?”

Malone started to shrug, but David nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “The risks are very small, but I want you to understand completely. Colby brought some materials.”

Malone retrieved a colorful brochure from his briefcase. She took it from his outstretched hand, wondering where he’d picked it up on such short notice. Did his practice specialize in paternity suits or something?

She leafed through the brochure blindly, the words indecipherable through the haze in her brain.

“You don’t have to read it now,” David said. “Take your time. Obviously you can consult any physician you like while you make your decision, though, as Colby said, the test must be performed by someone we agree on. Colby has a few names to suggest.”

“Of course,” she said, and accepted Colby’s doctor list, printed on creamy, classy letterhead that said Diamante, Inc. Whatever that was.

The brochure was glossy and obviously expensive, as well. That meant the test wasn’t cheap. “Who will pay for this CVS test? I know you said you wouldn’t be drawn in before—”

“Since it’s in my interests to settle the problem definitively, one way or another, I’m willing to pay for it.” David waved the issue away, as if payment were sublimely unimportant.

And she knew, from her Google searches, that, to him, it was. A few hundred, a few grand, he’d never miss it.

Suddenly her anger surged back, full force. Well, bully for the big guy, to whom her pregnancy was the “problem.” The “mistake.” When he realized the baby really was his, he’d probably have Colby sue the condom company, and her child support checks would all come marked Trojan, Inc.

Jerk.

She slid the brochures into a neat stack, like folding a bad poker hand. She stood, pushing her chair back with a scrape that echoed through the nearly empty restaurant.

“Make the appointment,” she said. “I’ll be there.”




CHAPTER THREE


DAVID SAT in the waiting room of the obstetrician’s office, surrounded by pregnant women, hyperkinetic toddlers and hovering husbands. He hadn’t ever been so uncomfortable in his life.

It might as well have been tattooed across his forehead: I don’t belong here.

He flipped through the newspapers he’d found on the magazine table and tried to remember who was running in the upcoming special elections. But real life, or what he used to call real life a week ago, seemed remote. Kitty’s announcement had blasted him into an alternate dimension. He still met clients, took depositions, researched case law, but it all had the muted, out-of-focus quality of something seen through dirty glass.

And yet, this “baby” and “fatherhood” world didn’t seem real, either. That left him…nowhere. Suspended in some murky, slow-motion half-life.

He wondered if things would snap back into clarity when the results of the paternity test came through.

Or would life just get weirder still?

He glanced at the closed door through which the nurse had escorted Kitty at least forty-five minutes ago. Their cheek swabs had been done earlier, when they first got to the office. Now the CVS test was supposed to take no more than half an hour. Had something gone wrong?

He stood. He paced to the check-in window to see if he could glimpse anything going on down the halls. He couldn’t.

When he turned back, he saw that a little kid with a runny nose had stolen his chair. In the far corner, a woman who had to be about eleven months pregnant inexplicably burst into tears, and her husband knelt in front of her, apologizing and chafing her hands.

God. This was the waiting room of one of the most respected and most expensive obstetricians in San Francisco. David could only imagine what it must be like at a free clinic. No wonder Kitty had been so adamant that she wouldn’t go to a cut-rate place.

He checked his watch. Fifty minutes.

And then, suddenly, Kitty came through the door. For a second, her small, oval face was pale and oddly woebegone under the chaos of green curls—and then she spotted him. Instantly she rearranged her features into the feisty, chin-up expression he knew best.

But all the pride in the world couldn’t put the color back into her cheeks.

“Everything go okay?” He had already paid, days ago, so they had nothing to do but leave. He fought the urge to put his arm around her shoulders. She might be pale, but he knew she’d rather collapse on the carpet than admit any weakness.

“It was fine.”

They walked a few feet, and she stumbled over a board book some brat had left by the door. She reached out and used the wall to steady herself.

“How about if you wait here,” he said, “and I’ll bring my car around?”

“No, thanks.” The door to the obstetrician’s suite opened just a little way from the elevator, and she punched the down button quickly. “I’m all right. They said to take it easy, but no one said I needed a wheel-chair and a keeper.”

He wanted to ask her again how the test had gone, but the stiffness in her shoulders told him she wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. At least not with him. Once again that surreal detachment swamped him. How was it possible that he might be having a baby with this woman who wouldn’t even talk to him?

She spent the ride down adjusting the folds of her cloth purse to avoid making eye contact, as if he were some disreputable stranger who had crowded her and might ask for a handout.

He tightened his jaw and backed away to lean against the farthest wall of the glass elevator. Fine. If she didn’t want to talk, he knew how to be silent. He put his hands in his pockets and pretended to watch the luxuriant fern and ivy of the atrium slide by.

When they reached the ground floor, though, and the doors slid soundlessly open to release them, he saw her hesitate, her fingers tightening on the shoulder strap of her purse. And then it hit him. How had she gotten here this morning? And how was she going to get back? Her hotel was halfway across San Francisco, and he had no idea whether she could afford a cab.

Damn it. He should have picked her up. Or at least sent a cab to get her. He’d promised he’d handle the cost of this test—all the costs. But he hadn’t even thought about transportation. Obviously, he’d been spending way too much time in ivory-tower lawyerland. And she probably despised him for that, probably assumed he had been born to the cushy life and had always been smugly oblivious of details like this.

Ha. If she only knew.

“I hope you’ll let me give you a lift back to the hotel.” He smiled, working at sounding politely professional. Nothing judgmental, patronizing or overly familiar.

He seemed, thank God, to have hit the correct tone. She didn’t smile, exactly, but her face wasn’t as gray and hard as it had been upstairs. A little color had come back into her cheeks.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m fine.”

“I’d like to.” He thought fast. “And it wouldn’t be out of my way. I have to meet a client over in that part of town, and—”

“No, really. Thanks, but I’m fine.” She pushed a curl out of her forehead with a tense hand.

Had a hint of chill returned to her voice? Had she taken “that part of town” as an insult? He hadn’t meant it as one. Her hotel had obviously been chosen to get maximum clean-and-respectable points for minimum price, which seemed like common sense to him.

He wasn’t a silver-spoon snob; but of course she didn’t know that. All she knew of him was the luxury cottage at the Bahamas, the overdecorated office in Union Square and maybe a glimpse of the Victorian house he’d just bought in the Marina district, which looked okay from the outside but was crumbling to bits on the inside, like a facade for a film set. That moldering interior was partly why his housekeeper stone-walled anyone who came knocking at the door.

Someday, he’d have to tell Kitty about the two-job, Ramen noodle years of law school. And the loans that had crippled him financially for a decade. And how, now that he’d been fool enough to buy that fading lady of a house, he would have to restore it, plank by plank, with his own time and sweat.

Someday. Yeah. If the test came back with his name on it, and they actually had a someday.

Right now, though, he had to get her into the car and back to her hotel so that she could rest. She had dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there ten minutes ago.

“Kitty, I—”

She shook her head firmly. “I’m not going straight back to the hotel, anyhow. I have an errand to run first. I’m fine with the bus.”

The bus? A half-hour standing in the cold, waiting for it to rumble by, followed by two hours of bumping and jostling, hanging onto a ceiling strap and nosing the next guy’s armpit?

“Can’t the errand wait? You really should take it easy and—” But she was already shaking her head again, so he tried another tack. “Tell you what. I’ll take you to do the errand, whatever it is, then drop you back at the hotel. I guarantee we’ll get it all done before the right bus even shows up.”

He almost had her. Though she probably didn’t know it, a tiny worry line had formed between her eyebrows. He could practically see her willpower fading as she glanced uncertainly toward the front doors. He knew very little about her, but he knew, from the quick bar-side chitchat, customer to bartender, that she was from Virginia.

He would have known, even if she hadn’t told him. Her accent, with its soft I’s and almost inaudible G’s, spoke of a childhood spent playing under the magnolia trees of the Deep South, not on the foggy hillsides of northern California.

Besides, even natives occasionally found the public transit system daunting.

“Kitty.” He put his hand on her shoulder—and almost pulled it away again, shocked to find that his palm instantly recognized the exact shape of the curve, the exact feel of the warm, satiny, sun-bronzed skin. “Let me help. You look done in, and that can’t be good for you—or the baby.”

He wondered whether she’d say something snarky, something about how charming it was that he suddenly gave a damn about the baby, but she didn’t. Maybe she was too tired.

She nodded slowly. “All right,” she said. She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

She stood somberly by his side, without chitchat, as he gave his ticket to the medical complex valet. When the car came, she settled herself gingerly, and leaned her forehead against the window for a few seconds, with her eyes closed.

As he pulled out onto the street, she finally spoke.

“The errand is…well, I have to go buy and pick up the uniform for my new job. It’s near my hotel, though, so it’s not far out of the way.”

She had taken a job? Here, in San Francisco? Thank God he was accustomed to controlling his face in court, so he didn’t let his shock show. But…surely she wasn’t planning to stay here long enough to need a job!

And that’s when he realized that, despite everything, he had continued to believe that this whole mess might go away soon.

That she might go away soon.

He tried to relax his hands on the wheel. “Where’s the job?”

“At the Bull’s Eye,” she said. Her chin tilted up maybe an eighth of an inch. “Weekend bartender.”

The silence that followed the statement was loaded, like a gun. A hundred incredulous phrases leapt to the tip of his tongue, and though he somehow bit them back, she obviously guessed at every one. She didn’t look at him, but the muscles in her body seemed coiled, ready to strike if he dared to criticize.

But a bartender? Damn it, a bartender? On her feet, in the middle of the night, in that neighborhood? As fragile as she looked? She’d lost ten pounds since the Bahamas—ten pounds she didn’t have to spare. Did she really think the Bull’s Eye was any place for a pregnant woman? Hadn’t she had enough of groping drunks to last her a lifetime?

Something hot and tight moved through his chest, and he found his fingers clenching the wheel in spite of his best efforts.

He knew how any of those questions would sound. Controlling. Patronizing. Snobbish. The mother of my child, a bartender?

He could hear her comeback now. Guess you should have thought of that, jackass, before you slept with a bartender.

He turned right onto Market, his tires complaining as he took the corner a little sharply. He eased back on the gas and forced himself to take a breath. Regroup, he ordered himself. This wasn’t about snobbery, but he’d be damned if he knew what it was about.

He had no say over where she worked. And whose fault was that? His own. He was the one who had dictated the rules here. He had rejected any official investment in Kitty, her life or her unborn child, until and unless the tests proved the baby was his.

So what was this sudden overprotective reaction all about? Why did he care what she did to earn a few bucks while she waited for the test results?

Because—

Because the whole thing was impossible, that was why. Insane. She was nothing to him today, but tomorrow they might be as intimately connected as two people could be. Nothing in between. Either she was a lying nutjob who would vanish like a bad smell, or she was the mother of his child, who would change his world forever.

And he couldn’t do anything but wait to see which way the coin fell.

This shouldn’t have happened. They’d had one sexy, rather sweet night together, the way millions of people the world over did all the time. They’d both been trying to drown some sorrows, forget some ghosts. Neither of them had dreamed they might be stepping into this kind of trap.

So what the hell was he supposed to say? What the hell was he supposed to feel?

The silence stretched on, but eventually grew less tense as she seemed to realize he wasn’t going to lecture her. She gave him directions as needed, and by the time they reached the Bull’s Eye, David felt back in at least some semblance of control.

He parked near the door—it was far too early for a crowd, even in this neighborhood. He turned off the engine and swiveled toward her. She looked pale, as if the wordless emotional standoff that had just passed between them had taken its own kind of toll.

He offered a smile as a truce. “Would you like me to come in with you?”

She shook her head. “I won’t be a minute.”

She was as good as her word. Less than sixty seconds later, she emerged from the small, dark, brown-planked building, hugging a white plastic sack to her chest. Her face was bent over the sack, and she walked so quickly he wondered if she was running from someone.

Had her new boss given her a hard time?

She pulled open the door and lurched in.

“Is everything okay?” He couldn’t see her expression. Ducked down like this, her face was hidden by a cascade of springy green curls. “Did you get your uniform?”

“Yes.” Her voice sounded odd. Was she crying?

“Kitty—”

“Please,” she said in that same muffled strangeness. “Could you take me home now?”

“Of course.” He started the car and pulled back onto the main drag. She still hugged that bag, wrapping her arms around it as if it were a life raft.

He tried to think of something to say, but failed. He had an insane urge to tell her that if she hated the idea of taking that bartending job, she didn’t have to do it. He’d help out, financially. Hell, even if the baby wasn’t his, he would help. He didn’t want her to have to serve drinks in that greasy, half-rotted dump.

But he couldn’t say any of that. He had no idea what he could say. He’d never felt so wrong-footed in his entire life. Thank God her hotel was only three blocks from here. All he had to do was get there without saying or doing anything to upset her more.

From the moment they’d met at the doctor’s office, he’d seen that she was angry with him, desperately angry at being forced to submit to the test. What he saw as common sense, she saw as a monstrous personal insult.

Or perhaps a cowardly attempt to dodge responsibility.

That, he realized, wasn’t entirely untrue. He’d never pretended to be a saint. He didn’t want to be a father, not now, not like this. He didn’t want to bring his first child into the world…like this. So, yes, damn it, he did want a way out of this impossible situation. If by some miracle the baby wasn’t his, what a get-out-of-jail-free card that would be.

For him.

But… He glanced at Kitty’s huddled body and her trembling fingers. What about for her? The baby wasn’t going to go away just because David found out it wasn’t his. What would she do then? If he wasn’t the father, and she knew it, why would she have come to him in the first place?

Because she had nowhere else to go. No other safety net below her, ready to catch her fall.

“The lab has promised to expedite the results,” he began awkwardly. She made a strange sound he couldn’t identify, and he wondered if she thought expedite was pompous and absurd. Hell, this was like trying to have a conversation with someone from another planet. You didn’t know what the simplest words meant to them.

“They’ve promised an answer by Wednesday,” he soldiered on. “So I’ll call you as soon as—”

She waved her hand toward him, making another peculiar noise. She fumbled with the bag.

“Kitty, look,” he said, frustrated, but starting to get worried. Why wouldn’t she tell him what was wrong? “I know this is rough on you, but I want you to know that, no matter—”

And then, with one final, strangled moan, she opened the bag and promptly vomited all over her brand-new bartender’s uniform.



THE FOLLOWING MONDAY AFTERNOON was crisp and windy, the blue sky filled with long scalloped rows of clouds that looked like fish scales. It would have been a great day to feel healthy, rested and free.

Instead, Kitty felt sick, exhausted and trapped.

It was only the second day of her job selling puppets at Punch and Judy—the retail job she’d taken at the wharf because the bartending gig didn’t offer enough hours. And already her patience meter was sagging toward Empty.

She had hoped this store, which sold gorgeous, quirky hand puppets, might be less boring than other retail jobs she’d had in the past. But the novelty had worn off quickly—about the time she realized the customers expected her to perform full puppet plays, complete with voices and dancing about, for their spoiled, impossible-to-please children.

This particular family, who had asked her to bring down every dragon puppet in the store, was really getting on her nerves. The parents kept backing into the corner to continue what looked like The Neverending Fight, counting on her to keep their seven-year-old son entertained enough that he didn’t overhear.

A losing battle. She’d seen too many little kids like this as she toiled at her various service jobs. She’d even been a little kid like this. And they always heard. They always knew.

What was worse, the family’s stop at the puppet store was probably just a ruse. At the last minute, the parents would undoubtedly refuse to buy, with some lame excuse like their luggage being overstuffed already.

The kid would go home empty-handed. That was rough, because, for once, this little boy wasn’t a brat. And he really, really liked the green dragon with crystal-teardrop scales and the red felt fire trailing from its nostrils. It cost about fifty dollars, and she wanted to warn him before he got his hopes up.

She glanced over at the dad. Good-looking guy, until you got to the smug face. And doing well for himself. Haircut, two hundred dollars. Sweater tied around the hips, five hundred dollars. Hips? Well, clearly, in his estimation, priceless. He’d just informed Mommy that he had janitors in his office who took better care of themselves than she did.

He caught Kitty looking at him, and lowered his voice. Right. God forbid anyone should think there was trouble in Yuppie Paradise.

Hypocrite.

She pulled off the puppet and wiped her hair back from her face, which felt suddenly sweaty. Aw, please, she thought, tightening her stomach. No vomiting now, not on this fifty-dollar dragon.

And all at once she’d had enough. She plucked one of the crystals from the dragon’s tail and turned to the dad again. “Oh, look. There’s a little damage to the scales here. I don’t know if that bothers you, but it does mean I could offer a pretty good discount.”

A discount she’d have to cover out of her own pocket, unfortunately. But the kid’s face was so hopeful, and she couldn’t stand it. She could make up the difference in her own budget by bringing a bag lunch the next week or two.

And maybe a few peanut-butter sandwich dinners.

She thrust the puppet out a bit farther to show the dad. “It’s only a tiny flaw. I’m sure your son would still love it.”

She turned to the boy. “I bet your dad does a great dragon voice, doesn’t he?”

The boy nodded. “Daddy, do your dragon voice! I’ll be Sir Galahad, and we can fight.”

The cheapskate was still considering saying no. His wife put her hand on his arm and said hesitantly, “Honey, surely we—”

He brushed her hand away. “How big a discount?”

Kitty smiled placidly. “I think it’s fifty percent. When there’s damage.”

The little boy squeezed his hands together so tightly the blood flow stopped, and his fingers were as white as marble. Kitty glanced down at him, then up at the dad with a smile that said she knew he was a great father who wouldn’t dream of breaking his kid’s heart.

With a low murmur of irritation, the man finally dug out his wallet. Kitty took a deep breath of relief.

She kept up a running chatter, to keep Dragon Dad in a good mood so that he wouldn’t take his frustration out on the family later. When they left, she pulled out her phone and calculated what her half of the dragon would be, including the tax, then took her wallet out with a sigh.

She was so focused that it wasn’t until she’d slipped her cash into the register that she noticed David Gerard standing on the other side of the store.

Her heart stumbled slightly. Now that was a sight that qualified as priceless. Muscled grace from head to toe. His thick, golden hair wind-tousled, a suit made for winning cases and breaking hearts, not necessarily in that order.

He was watching her with a dark, unreadable gaze. She flushed, wondering how much he’d seen. Did he think she’d really been flirting with that jerk? Had he seen her rip off the crystal? She’d have to explain. She didn’t need any more black marks against her in his mind.

And then her breath caught. She forgot about the little boy, the dad and the dragon, all in one swoop. Because she knew why David was here.

Though it was two days early, only one thing could have brought him all the way out here.

The test results were in.

She didn’t move from behind the register. She couldn’t. Her legs didn’t seem connected to her brain. She held on to the counter, just in case the legs gave out entirely.

She’d pictured this moment a hundred times. She’d known what the test results would be, of course, so she’d never felt any anxiety—only an eagerness to be vindicated.

She’d imagined how satisfying it would be to see his face once he understood what a bastard he’d been. How ego-soothing to listen to him try to find the words to apologize.

What she hadn’t realized was how intimate this moment would be.

The moment they looked at each other, not as adversaries in some paternity chess game, but as parents. As two people who, whatever else they might become, would be “Mommy and Daddy” to the child she carried inside her now. She didn’t want to be enemies. For her baby’s sake she wanted peace in whatever kind of family they formed. But, if not enemies…what were they?

The current sizzled across the store, connecting them like a glowing thread of awareness. He moved, then, but slowly, as if walking through a dream. By the time he reached the cash register, she felt her nerve endings spark painfully. Her mouth was dry, and it hurt to swallow.

He stopped only when the counter got in the way. “Can we talk? Outside?”

She shook her head. “My replacement will be here in a few minutes, but I can’t leave till she arrives.”

He frowned. “Kitty, we have to talk.”

She wondered what he expected her to do. Quit? For a minute he reminded her of the dragon dad, who expected everything in the world to run on his schedule.

“So talk. There’s no one in here but us. The puppets aren’t going to repeat anything they hear.”

Her voice sounded rougher than she intended it to. But she didn’t know what to do, what to say, and her voice wasn’t fully under her control. No part of her was. She still clutched the counter as if her knees might fail her at any minute.

She wasn’t exactly a pro at situations like this. If her voice sounded tough, so be it. One thing was certain—she’d rather sound like an unforgiving bitch than a breathless beggar.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll talk here. If that’s the way you want it.”

Want it? Want really didn’t come into this, but she let that go. “I take it you’ve received the test results.”

He nodded. “It’s conclusive. The baby is mine.”

She waited. Strangely, now that the moment had come, she no longer felt the slightest urge to say “I told you so.”

She was still angry, of course. Still hurt, still frightened. But she recognized his expression. That unique mixture of shock and dismay, and under it all, that blind, gutsy determination to find a way to face the unfaceable. It was exactly what she’d seen in the mirror the day she found out.

For the moment, anyhow, that expression bound them together, made them teammates in this dangerous game. So she didn’t say she’d told him from the start that of course the baby was his.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

She lifted her chin. “Sorry it’s yours?”

“Sorry I didn’t believe you.” He ran his hand through his hair. “And sorry that we’ve found ourselves in this situation. I know it’s just as hard for you as it is for me.”

That made her smile, and he understood the wry reaction instantly. He shook his head at his own stupidity. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course it’s harder, much harder, for you. It’s your body that’s changing. Your life that’s completely disrupted—”

“My uniforms that need to be dry-cleaned.”

“Yes.”

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.”




CHAPTER FOUR


KITTY FLUSHED, turning her face away slightly. “Don’t make a joke of this, David. We—”

“It’s not a joke. I want to marry you, if you’ll have me. We can work out the details with Colby and with your lawyer. We can consult every lawyer in San Francisco, if that’ll make you feel safer. I want to do this.”

She could tell he was serious. “But…why?”

The question seemed to surprise him. “For the baby, of course. It may be old-fashioned, but I don’t want my child to be illegitimate.”

“It’s the twenty-first century, David. Terms like illegitimate aren’t just old-fashioned. They’re dead. Why would you marry a complete stranger just because—”

“Because I think our child deserves a shot at having a family. I think he deserves a chance to have a mother and a father, both at the same time, not on alternate weekends. We created this child. Don’t we owe him something?”

She nodded, struck by the intensity in his voice. She knew how he felt. Once she wrapped her mind around the idea that she was going to be a parent, she saw all the terrifying power of that relationship.

She suddenly realized that, sometimes, all the clichés were true. As a mother, a woman would drag the evening star out of the sky for the baby’s first birthday candle if she thought it would make him happy. She’d work till she bled, and negotiate with God, and lie down on the proverbial railroad tracks. Well, not her mother, maybe. But normal mothers. And thank God, she already knew that she would be a better mother than her own. Her pregnancy had already triggered a ferocious, protective passion for her unborn child.

“We owe him everything,” she said. “But marriage won’t necessarily—”

“No, I know. It won’t necessarily fix anything. I have no idea if we can make it work. It’s a dark-horse long shot at best. But we should at least try. For a while—a reasonable try. We can put together a contract, so that you can be sure you’ll be protected.”

He drew a long breath and put his hands, palms down, on the counter. “What do you say, Kitty? Will you do it? Will you give this crazy thing a chance and marry me?”

She hardly knew what to say. What was the “right” answer?

She looked into his gorgeous blue eyes and remembered the feel of his hands on her naked skin. She thought of the baby, no more than a delicate pea inside her, waiting with an absolute, unthinking trust. Growing silently, preparing to be born and loved.

But she also thought of her restless mother and her wounded father. And all the barnacle men who came after, right up to the unspeakable Jim Oliphant. She thought of the dragon dad she’d just waited on, who wanted everyone to believe he possessed the model family, though his son had anxious eyes and his wife was afraid to talk back to him.

She thought of all the brutal dramas that were playing out right this very moment, invisible behind neat doors and elegant lace curtains.

What, in the end, did marriage guarantee? Especially a marriage without love?

Not a damn thing.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His blank face told her how shocked he was. She almost laughed. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that she’d turn him down, had he? He’d come here so confident, like Prince Charming holding out the glass slipper. Every princess in town itched to wear it, so just imagine how ecstatic and grateful the little cinder maid would be!

And, in some ways, it was the fairy-tale ending. From unemployed bartender to lawyer’s wife. From sooty rags to society pages. Wasn’t that every struggling unwed mother’s brass ring?

But she wasn’t every unwed mother. How little he knew her!

That was, of course, the point. He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. They’d gone at this thing all backward.

At that moment, Cheyenne, her replacement for the evening, came in.

“Just let me clock out,” Kitty said. “We can talk outside.”

He nodded grimly and backed away from the counter. She went through the motions of turning the store over to Cheyenne, then met David at the door. They strolled out onto the boardwalk without speaking.

She tried to read his expression. When the shock of being turned down wore off, what kind of emotion would take its place? How he behaved right now might tell her a lot about who David Gerard really was. Would he be angry, insulted to have his generous offer rejected? Would he use it as an excuse to wash his hands of her? Would he be polite, but secretly relieved?

Of all the men she’d ever met, he was the most difficult to figure out. For a couple of minutes, he didn’t speak at all. He moved to the railing and leaned his elbows on it, as if this were any lazy afternoon and he wanted to watch the water.

She joined him there, pulling her sweater close around her chest. The winter sun sparkled on the waves, but didn’t provide much warmth. The wind was loud in their ears.

She started to say again that she was sorry, but she stopped herself. If he had a petty temper or a fragile ego, she wasn’t going to play beta dog, rolling over and showing her belly. She wasn’t asking for David’s charity, but for his partnership. The child she carried was his.

A gust of wind caught her curls and began to play rough. She grabbed the longest ones and tucked them behind her ears. She clenched her jaw, so that she wouldn’t shiver, and so that she wouldn’t say anything before he did.

Finally, he took a deep breath and turned to face her. “I’m not sure what to say. I might have expressed myself badly. You don’t have to answer right away, of course. Maybe it would help if you took some time to think it over.”

“I don’t need to think it over,” she said. “I can’t marry you. The truth is, I hardly know you.”

He didn’t quite let his gaze drop to her stomach, but one corner of his mouth turned up, acknowledging the irony. “Fair enough. But I promise you I’m healthy, law-abiding and relatively sane. If you’d like, I can provide references.”

“This isn’t a job application.” She smiled, in spite of herself. “Although I’ll be darned if I know quite what it is.”

For a second, he smiled, too. Then his face sobered, and he reached out to touch her wrist with cold-tipped fingers. It was a gentle contact, and she felt no urge to pull back.

“It’s the biggest decision we’ll ever have to make,” he said. “One that will change our child’s life forever.”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Of course, as a lawyer, he would be good at framing arguments.

She stared at him, hoping for inspiration, but she got distracted by how elegant, handsome and intelligent he looked. How reasonable and calm. His hair lifted, sparking gold as invisible fingers of wind moved through it. The sun spotlighted his face, and his piercing eyes seemed an impossible blue. Just surface stuff, of course, but as baby-daddies went…





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