Baby, Oh Baby! (19 page)

That had been the turning point. Holding her against him, swaying to a slow samba rhythm, feeling her breasts against his chest and her breath on his neck—it had all conspired against him. During the brief duration of the song, she'd infected him like a virus, weakening his resistance, making him feverish with desire. In the span of just a few minutes, she went from being a woman he was flirting with to a woman he longed to bed.

It had taken all of his resolve not to kiss her, not to follow her to her room. He might even have tried if two of his friends from Texas hadn't entered the bar and invited the two of them to join them for a drink. After a quick nightcap, Tom fled to his room.

The close call scared him. He'd avoided Kelly the rest of the trip. But then she'd sat beside him on the plane on the way home, and it was there again—the strong pull of attraction, the heady sensation of wanting and being wanted. Tom had tried to keep the conversation neutral, but every topic seemed laden with innuendo.

She'd called him twice in the past two weeks, and both times he'd turned down her invitations to lunch. But she'd caught him at a weak moment this afternoon. He'd had a crummy day—he'd not only lost a case, but argued with Jake over that damned baby—and when she had suggested a game of racquetball that evening, he'd agreed. He deserved a little pleasure in his life, he thought belligerently. Life shouldn't be all work and worry and problems. He liked the way he felt when he was with her—witty and smart and younger and, well, sexy. Hell. He might be a little gray around the temples, but he still liked to feel like a man.

So they'd played ball and eaten fat-free chicken Caesar salads at the club's snack bar. And then, as she polished off her bottle of Evian water, she'd looked him straight in the eye and said it: "I want to go to bed with you."

His mouth had gone dry, despite the fact he'd just taken a drink of diet soda. "I—I'm married."'

"So?" She ran her foot up the inside of his calf. "So. . . I don't believe in cheating."

Kelly's lips curved in a mocking smile. "From what you've told me about your wife, she'd probably think I was doing her a favor."

Hell—he knew he shouldn't have talked about his wife so freely that night in the bar. "Kelly, I'm not the kind of man who can do that."

"Have you thought about leaving her?"

Tom had drawn a deep breath, then slowly it had hissed out. "It's crossed my mind."

"Well, maybe you should give it a trial run." She'd reached out and placed her hand over his. "We both love jazz and Creole food. Can you imagine what a great time we could have if we went to New Orleans together? The national corporate attorneys' convention's going to be held there this year, isn't it?"

"Kelly—" He'd begun to stop her short, but she cut him off.

"Don't say no. Just think about it."

Tom had pulled back his hand and checked his watch. "I—I've got to go."

"Me, too. I'll walk out with you."

He'd walked her to her car, started to give her a friendly peck on the cheek, but at the last moment she turned, and the kiss landed on her lips. Her hands had wound around his neck, and she'd pulled his head closer. He hadn't meant to, but he'd found himself kissing her back, kissing her like a hormone-crazed teenager until he was as hard as flagpole, right there in the health club parking lot.

The memory sent a fresh surge of guilt through him. It hadn't meant anything, he told himself as he climbed out of his Jaguar. He hadn't intended to do it. Hell—it was just a kiss, nothing more. One little kiss didn't mean he'd betrayed Susanna or his marital vows.

Not yet.

"Damn it. Damn it all." Grabbing his gym bag, he slammed the car door harder than necessary, wishing he could shut off the cloying sense of guilt as easily. He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Kelly made him feel alive. And lately he'd felt so dead—dead and flat, dead and colorless, dead and dry, like an old, crumpled leaf.

Juggling his gym bag in one hand and his laptop in the other, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, then stopped cold in his tracks.

Oh, Christ. Soft music wafted through from the stereo, and candlelight flickered from the dining room. Susanna appeared in the foyer, wearing a fitted black pantsuit he'd never seen before.

She smiled brightly. "Hi."

"Uh—hi." Tom stared from her to the flickering candles. "Is the electricity out?"

"No." Her smile widened.. "I just thought candlelight might be. . . festive."

Festive—good God. She hadn't cooked up some sort of surprise party, had she? He ran a rapid mental inventory. It wasn't their anniversary, it wasn't his birthday, and it was six months before hers. Tom peered cautiously into the dining room. "What's the big deal?"

"No deal. I just thought it might be romantic if you and I had a glass of wine by candlelight."

Romantic-aw, hell! She was in the mood for romance, and he had Kelly's kiss fresh on his lips. He turned away and set his gym bag on the credenza in the hallway, shame gathering in his chest like storm clouds in a summer sky. "Not tonight." His voice was gruffer than he intended. "I've, uh, got some work to do." He avoided her eyes, not wanting to see that he'd hurt her, knowing damn well that he had.

There was a long, pregnant pause. She gave a little laugh, one that rang a little too brightly, was a little too brittle. "Well, surely you can spare me a few minutes. I haven't seen you all day."

Tom drew a deep breath and stifled the urge to blow it out in a sigh. Hell. There was no way he could refuse without flat-out being a son of a bitch. "Okay." "Can I pour you some wine?"

"No, thanks. I think I'll have a beer." Tom headed into the kitchen and flipped on the overhead light, glad to dispel the intimacy of the candlelight. Plopping his laptop on the counter, he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle.

She leaned a slim hip against the counter. "How was your day?"

"Not great. I lost the LaMarr case."

"Oh, that's a shame. But you'll win on appeal."'

"I hope so." Tom twisted off the cap and took a long swig of brew.

"Want to come in the living room and get comfortable?"

"Nah. I'd just as soon sit right here." In the light. Where I don't feel like a fly about to be trapped by a spider.

"Okay." She shimmied up on a bar stool beside him. "Was Jake back today?"

The thought made Tom scowl. He took another long pull . on the bottle. "Yeah. He was back. Full of stories about that baby."

"The mother must still be recovering from surgery. Who' s• helping take care of the baby?"

"Jake hired a private nurse." Tom shook his head in disgust. "If he didn't have the big Steelco meeting this afternoon, he probably would have stayed out there in the sticks for another two weeks and played private nurse himself. He's completely besotted with this whole fatherhood thing."

"Well, you can't very well blame him."

"Yes, I can. He doesn't even know the mother."

"But it's his baby."

"Maybe." He twirled the bottle, staring at the wet circle it left on the white countertop. "Maybe not. He'll know for sure next week."

"He got a paternity test?"

Tom nodded. "If it's positive, I bet that floozy nails him but good for child, support."

"I doubt that she's a floozy "

"Any woman who has a child and doesn't know who the father is ranks as a floozy in my book."

"It's not, as if she slept around," Susanna said. "She had artificial insemination—a medical procedure. She must have wanted a child very badly."

Tom took a long pull from the bottle, not wanting to listen to reason. "Say what you want, but I bet she expects Jake to pay through his nose for the rest of his life."

"Well, it doesn't sound like Jake would mind. After all, he said he . wants joint custody. This whole thing could turn out to be a wonderful blessing."

Tom snorted. `Being saddled with an illegitimate bastard and payments to a money-hungry broad for the next eighteen years sounds a lot more like a curse to me."

Susanna's lips parted in surprise. She leaned forward. "Tom, are you feeling all right? This isn't like you." Her brow was creased with worry. "You haven't been acting like yourself lately."

You're a fine one to talk It was all he could do not to voice the thought aloud. He tilted back the bottle. "Sorry."

She placed a soft hand on his arm. He didn't have to look at her to know her eyes were. troubled. "I think you've been working too hard lately. It would do you gad to take a break. Why don't we get away? We could take a trip to Hawaii, or maybe book a cruise to the Caribbean."

Aw, hell just what he needed. Until now, he'd done his best to keep his feelings bottled up, to try to be the stalwart one for her sake. But he couldn't do that tonight. He was too bitter—so bitter his insides felt like scorched earth.

Bitter—and angry. He was angry at her, and that made him angry at himself, because it was a completely unreasonable emotion, and he knew it. Hell, he knew she'd been hurting. She and Rachel had been closer than most mothers and daughters. He'd tried to comfort her, tried to help her, tried everything within his power, but all she'd wanted to do was push him away.

Well, she'd damned well succeeded. She'd pushed him away, all right—right toward someone else. And just as he'd about decided to go for it—to do what he wanted to do for a change, not what was best for the firm or his family or a client—she did a complete one-eighty. What was he supposed to do, just forget how she'd rejected him for the past two years?

Well, he couldn't do it. Just thinking about it made his blood boil. Where had she been all those nights when he'd needed her, when he'd longed to affirm that life was worth the trouble of living, that love was more than a heartache waiting to happen, that something bigger, more enduring than the pain inside of him actually existed? Where had she been when her body could have given him solace, when he'd longed to hold her and be held, to share in her grief, to have a safe place to pour out his own? He knew it was wrong to feel this way, knew it was petty and vindictive, but damn it all, he felt it anyway. He felt it so strongly he thought he was about to explode, like an over-filled canister of volatile gas.

She had no right to pop a few antidepressant pills and do a complete about-face, to suddenly become all sweetness and light, and expect him to act like nothing had happened. Plenty had happened, by damn!

His mouth tasted like burned toast. He reached for his beer, hoping to wash it away, only to realize he'd already drained the bottle. He stood, the barstool screeching on the cream-colored ceramic tile.

"Look, Suze, I'm snowed under right now. I can't even think about a trip." He tossed the bottle in the trash. I've got to tackle these briefs now or else Ill be up all night." He gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek. As he did, 'he inhaled her perfume, the soft, subtle scent she'd worn for years, ever since he'd told her it made him think of sex.

She hadn't worn it in a longtime. It set off something' inside of him, some deep, aching, primordial ooze of emotion, one too embedded to be explained. His anger softened, and his voice did, too.

"Well, I'd better get to work."

Her brown eyes played over his face like searchlights. "I love you, Tom."

She must have said the words a million times in the past thirty-three years, and he had always responded the same way. Not to do so now would upset her. He didn't want to create a scene, didn't want to launch a big discussion. Above all, he didn't want to hurt her.

He swallowed hard. "I love you, too."

Then he grabbed, his laptop and retreated to his study, not sure if he'd told the truth or a lie, not sure if he even knew the difference anymore.

Chapter Eleven

"Up! Up!"

Annie turned from the rosebush she was inspecting in the backyard to see Madeline lift her chubby arms above her head.

"Up!" the baby pleaded again.

"Oh, sweetie—you learned a new word!" Annie reflexively reached down for the child.

"You're not supposed to lift her yet," the home care nurse cautioned. "Not for three more days."

Annie sighed. "That's the hardest part about this whole recovery process—not being able to pick up my child."

"You can sit down and let her climb on your lap." "I know, I know, but it's not the same."

"Up!" Madeline insisted. "Ma-ma-ma up!"

Annie smiled ruefully down at her child. "Honey, I'm sorry, but Mommy's boo-boo still hurts."

The nurse, a kind-faced woman named Mrs. Forest, bent and picked up Madeline. "Let's go back to the patio, honey," she said to the child. "Mommy can sit down and hold you there."

Annie turned toward the house, just as Jake strolled around the corner. Her heart jumped into her throat.'

Mrs. Forest spotted him at the same time. "Oh, look, Madeline!" She gave the baby a little bounce. "There's your daddy!"

"Ink! Ink! Ink!" Madeline cried, squirming in the nurse's grip. Mrs. Forest put her down, and the baby raced toward Jake, her arms out.

A smile broke over Jake's face as he scooped the child up. "Hello, there, sweetheart. Are you glad to see me?" "She sure seems to be," the nurse affirmed.

Jake settled the child in his arms, his smile widening. It was the first heartfelt smile Annie had seen him give to the baby, and it was so much like Madeline's that her throat tightened.

He turned his attention toward her. "Hi, Annie." Annie's pulse fluttered. "Hi."

He glanced at the nurse. "Mrs. Forest, do you think Annie's well enough for a little outing? I'd like to take her and the baby out to lunch, if she's up to it

"I believe she is. In fact, I think an outing would do her good."

"Great. This will give you a break, too."

"Oh, good. I could use an hour or two to run a few errands."

"You go right ahead."

Mrs. Forest headed for the house, leaving them alone.

Annie gave Jake a teasing grin, her heart pounding erratically. "When a person issues an invitation, it's customary to address the person one is actually inviting."