She's Having a Baby (13 page)

“We're going to have to work on your speech,” MacKenzie said with a shake of her head. She could feel Aggie watching her expectantly. She began reading: “I don't usually stop at the Laugh-Inn for my nightly dose of entertainment, but someone twisted my arm this time and I'm glad they did. Amid the painfully meager talent which we won't go into here because we're merciful, a shining light struggled to emerge the other night. Agnes Bankhead, known as Aggie to her friends—and we all want to be her friends—is a talent to watch. And guess what, folks? She's old enough to be your grandmother. But that doesn't stop this lady. My prediction, she's going to go to the top. And take us with her, laughing all the way. If the manager of that club has any smarts, he'll hire her on as a regular. But that's just my opinion.”

Aggie was fairly beaming as MacKenzie handed the newspaper back to her. The woman almost looked like a young girl, MacKenzie thought. “I guess that means that I've got a shot at it.”

Quade looked at her for a long moment, welcoming the opportunity to focus on something other than what had just happened in his bedroom. “I don't think you ever doubted that.”

And then he smiled at the older woman. It was a soft, gentle smile that instantly transformed him from the brooding man he appeared to be to something far more kind.

To the man she'd made love with less than ten minutes ago, MacKenzie thought. Her heart quickened as moments came back to her. She banked them down before the rising heat had a chance to take hold again and color her cheeks.

“No, not really,” Aggie confessed without either false modesty or vanity. She raised her chin, a woman who had conquered the first step of a long journey, infused with the confidence to continue. “Well, I just wanted to share the good news with you two, seeing as how I dragged you both down there to be my support group.”

Humor shone in her eyes as they swept over both of them. MacKenzie thought it was her imagination, but she could have sworn she saw Aggie's eyes twinkling as the woman announced, “And now I'll leave you two to your unpacking.”

Feeling suddenly fidgety, MacKenzie picked up the plate she'd brought and urged it on Aggie. “Take some more cookies.”

“She made enough for two armies,” Quade added.

Aggie took five and slipped them into the oversize pocket of the smock she had on. “This'll do me fine,” she told MacKenzie when the latter tried to give her a few more. Reaching the front door, she stopped and leaned her head back toward MacKenzie who was directly behind her. “By the way,” she whispered, “you missed a button. Hot work, unpacking,” she commented.

And then, with a wink, the woman was gone, leaving MacKenzie staring at the closed door.

MacKenzie whirled around on her heel the second the door was shut. The temperature in the room had gone up at least fifteen degrees.

As had her body temperature.

She turned so quickly, three of the cookies went sliding off the plate. Quade was beside her in beat, picking them up.

“Three-second rule,” she called out.

All three cookies in his hand, he looked at her as if she'd began spouting gibberish. “Excuse me?”

“Haven't you ever heard of the three-second rule? If something falls on the floor and you pick it up before three seconds, it's okay to eat.”

“And the scientific basis for that is that it takes germs three seconds to become aware that there's something on the floor for them to contaminate?”

To his surprise, she flashed a grin. “Something like that.”

“I'll have to tell them that at the lab.”

“Speaking of the lab, how's the speech coming?” she pressed again.

He'd really left himself open with that one, he thought. “It's not,” he told her darkly, setting the plate on the kitchen table.

“Would you like me to help you?”

He looked at her incredulously. The woman was as unscientific as cotton candy.

“What, write it?”

Was he so quick to forget? She'd already volunteered
more than once. “No, but I could be your cheering section and your sounding board.”

“You don't know the first thing about the topic.”

“Sounding boards don't have to know anything about the topic they're listening to. Their function is to echo back so that the person doing the talking can hear how it sounds.”

She almost had him believing what she was saying. What kind of witch was she, anyway? Making him feel things he didn't want to, urging him on to do things he had absolutely no inclination of doing.

“Tell you what,” she decided, “we'll postpone unpacking. This is more important.”

“It's late.”

“The pen and paper won't know the difference.”

He was about to comment on the absurdity of what she'd just said when he replayed the words in his mind. His eyes narrowed. “How did you know I use a pen and paper to write instead of a computer?”

For one thing, she hadn't seen one in the apartment yet. For another, he struck her as someone who liked dealing with the uncomplicated basics in life. That meant no computers if he could possibly help it.

“Just a lucky guess. C'mon, no more procrastinating.” Hands at his back, she urged him on to the kitchen table, then turned up the light. “You need to get a start.”

As usual, arguing with her was useless. He didn't even try.

S
he was nothing like Ellen, he thought, once more coming to the end of the speech that he'd been running through his head. The two women were as different as night and day.

Ellen had been quiet, introspective. A perfect match for his own personality. MacKenzie, on the other hand, was a live wire. A vivacious little ball of fire that had captured his attention no matter how much he'd tried to ignore her.

And now, he caught himself watching for her. Found a smile creeping onto his lips in unguarded moments, when thoughts of her would come bursting upon his brain like Fourth of July fireworks suddenly lighting up a pitch-black sky.

He didn't want this.

And yet, he did.

He sighed, sitting back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Wishing he could do the same to the tumultuous thoughts in his head. When he'd finally pulled himself together after Ellen's death, the plan had been to lead a quiet, solitary life, doing research. Eat, sleep and work—he'd put nothing more on his life's agenda. Companionship, relationships, love, those were all things that he'd felt were in his past, not to be experienced again.

But MacKenzie had made him realize that as self-contained as he told himself he was, there was a part of him that missed being involved in something greater than himself. Missed hearing voices other than his own in the apartment.

At one point, after she had tried to prepare him for his upcoming speech, he'd told MacKenzie that he missed peace and quiet. But the truth was, not so much. Not when peace and quiet meant a lack of her.

His hand dropped to his side and he straightened, sitting dead still as the import of the thought hit him right between the eyes.

Dear God, when had it happened?

Between work, hand-holding a septuagenarian's budding ego and writing a speech he didn't want to deliver, when had he had time to start caring about MacKenzie?

When had he started caring again?

He didn't have time for this, Quade told himself as annoyance took hold. Didn't have the stamina for this. Because “this” meant putting himself out on a limb. A limb that could break beneath him without any warning and send him plummeting back into the abyss he'd been living in before MacKenzie came into his life.

Been there, done that. Didn't want a repeat performance.

“Earth to Quade.”

Blinking, he realized that MacKenzie was waving her hand in front of him, trying to get his attention. He was dazed because what was happening to him was completely unexpected.

He pushed aside the pages of his speech that sat in front of him on the table. They slipped to the floor. “Sorry,” he murmured.

MacKenzie picked them up before he had a chance to. “Little mental vacation there?” she teased. She placed the pages back on the table. “You know, I'm getting used to that.”

At her insistence, he'd been rehearsing the speech every night after work for five days now. And she had been there every night to make sure he did. He should have resented that. So why didn't he?

“It's the only way I seem to be able to find any peace and quiet,” he told her.

Her mouth curved in a smile he couldn't begin to interpret, only that it was so typically her. “You sleep, don't you?”

“Not when you're in my bed.”

That was another thing that had happened as naturally as breathing. In one week's time, as he struggled with the speech he was honor bound to deliver, they had become lovers.

Lovers.

He didn't know how else to refer to it, even though the term brought a tightness to his chest at the same time
it made his heart glad. Each evening she'd come over to help him pull his thoughts together and then had done her best to pull them apart with her sweet mouth and that body of hers that made his own respond in ways he hadn't thought possible.

MacKenzie grinned up at him, her eyes dancing, teasing him. Wreaking havoc with his discipline. “Well, when you ‘sleep' with someone, the intention is not to really ‘sleep' with them.” She used her fingers as quotation marks to offset the second use of the word. And then she looked at him pointedly. “Unless, of course, you're very, very comfortable around them.”

For one reason or another, she made his pulse race every time he was with her. That, too, was not business as usual for him. Pulses didn't race, they just beat. Unless MacKenzie was in close proximity.

“Does anyone ever really get comfortable around you? It's like getting comfortable around a shack located in the Mojave Desert filled with explosives. You just don't know if the sun's going to make things so hot that something'll suddenly go off.”

She gave him a funny look. “I think I'm going to have to chew on that one for a while. I'm not sure if it's a compliment or not.”

He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Just stating a fact of life.”

Her eyes met his and she felt something begin to stir inside. Again. The spark went beyond the fierce physical attraction she experienced, the attraction that only increased each time they were together. Something about Quade compelled her to seek him out.

Most of all, she wanted to make the sadness in his eyes go away.

Right. And that'll go right after you tell him that you're pregnant with someone else's baby.

Rising from the table, MacKenzie stretched. Restless. This didn't have a prayer of going anywhere and she knew it, but she just couldn't make herself get off the ride. She knew it was because she was weak. Because she wanted to savor the sensations he created within her just a little longer.

She forced herself to get back to business. “Okay, Doctor, from the top. One more time.” She laughed when he groaned. “Hey, the moment of truth is tomorrow. You need to be ready. Aggie doesn't leave anything to chance before she goes on.” She nailed him with a penetrating look. “Are you going to tell me that you're less prepared than a seventy-two-year-old woman?”

He was tired of the speech. Tired of everything. Except for her. “No, I'm going to tell you that you're a slave driver.”

She grinned more broadly. “No argument.” And then, like a drill sergeant, she tapped the pages on the kitchen table and issued an order. “Now, from the top.”

“As you wish.”

A whimsy came over him. Maybe he'd gone over the edge, he didn't know. He was too tired to analyze it. Instead of beginning to recite the speech that was all but embossed on his mind, he caught her up in his arms and began to kiss her.

A squeal of surprise escaped her lips before she sank into the kiss. Then, laughing, suspended three inches off
the ground, MacKenzie braced her hands against his shoulders and created a space between them. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Starting from the top, like you told me.” A look MacKenzie could only describe as mischievous entered his eyes. Holding her by the waist, he gave a jerk of his wrists and moved his hands to her hips, raising her higher. Tantalizing her. “Of course I could always start at the bottom.”

Still holding her, he slowly slid her down along the length of him. A sigh of surrender escaped her lips. It was all the incentive he needed. The smile that bloomed in her eyes pushed him over.

MacKenzie laced her fingers around his neck. “You're bad,” she told him.

She'd tapped into all sorts of things he hadn't thought existed within him. “And who made me that way?”

He watched a knowing look enter her eyes. “I beg to differ. You're too strong willed for anyone to make you do anything you didn't want to do.”

She had his number, he thought, but he wasn't going to explore that now. Now all he wanted to do was forget that he was going to be standing up in front of a room full of wealthy strangers, delivering a speech that still clung to the roof of his mouth every time he thought about giving it.

He wanted to just lose himself in her.

His mouth met hers and the rest unfolded as naturally as breathing. As naturally and as wondrously as the sunrise that occurred each morning, but was still something magnificent to behold.

She was a force of nature to be reckoned with, he thought. And savored.

MacKenzie wiggled as he undressed her. Wiggled so that her body teased his, making him hard even before he could get her nude. He wanted to linger over every part of her, to savor her, but she always caused his blood to rush madly through his veins, bringing with it an urgency he was still completely unaccustomed to.

She was, for him, the personification of excitement. Familiar, yet different each time he took her.

“This really isn't the way to practice your speech,” she told him even as she yanked away his shirt and then made short work of his jeans.

Instead of answering, he caught her to him, savaging her mouth, savoring the taste at the hollow of her throat. Wondering if there was some kind of a scientific term for the madness that seized him every time they made love.

“No,” he finally managed to agree, his breath already growing short, his patience shorter, “it's a way to forget about it.”

He swept aside the pages on the table, sending them to the floor again. And then, he raised her up onto the table and sheathed himself in her. The look in her eyes drove him on. A madness throbbed in his veins, in his loins. The explosion came quickly for both of them.

The next moment, spent, still joined, he pulled her up so that he could take her back into his arms. So that he could kiss her because the mere act was not enough. He wanted to taste her, to smell her as the euphoria overtook him. Because she was becoming as much a part of him as his own skin.

Clinging to him, she could hardly catch her breath. “That's a hell of an opener,” she said, her voice husky. “What are you going to do for a closer?”

He laughed then, the sound undulating into her very being. And then a seriousness came over his features. “I'll show you.”

Picking her up into his arms, he carried her to his bed.

There were no more rehearsals that night. He was letter perfect.

 

MacKenzie chewed on her bottom lip as she slowly turned around in front of her full-length mirror, critically looking at herself from all angles. Wondering if she had made the right choice.

Wondering if she had time to change into yet another dress one last time.

Her bed and the floor around it were littered with dresses she'd tried on and discarded. A score of evening dresses she had either recently bought, borrowed or owned had all been subjected to intense scrutiny and for the most part, found to be lacking for one reason or another.

It didn't help that her favorite dress, a sparkly royal blue gown, felt as if it were tight on her. Reminding her of her pending state. And the fact that she was still keeping it a secret from Quade. A secret because she knew in her heart that once she told him, it would cause this wonderful ride to come to a grinding halt. Her secret would end this special bond between them.

Quade wasn't looking for a long-term relationship. Springing a child on him would be the catalyst he'd need to end things.

How had this happened? she wondered. How had she managed to fall into a trap she'd sworn she'd never revisit? What was she, a glutton for punishment?

No, just a woman who had fallen in love with a man who didn't want to be loved.

She looked at the reflection in her mirror. Tonight was about him. About the work he did and the money that was going to be raised because of all the people Dakota knew. Tomorrow was soon enough to get maudlin, she told herself sternly.

The doorbell rang, sending her heart racing up into her throat.

So much for changing again. She was just going to have to hope that this would do.

Picking up her silver evening bag, she walked into the living room just as the doorbell pealed again.

“Coming,” she called out.

She glanced down at her gown, smoothing it one last time. The butterflies were gathering on the runway. She hoped they wouldn't make things too uncomfortable for her baby.

Bracing herself, pasting a smile to her lips, MacKenzie opened the door.

The look in Quade's eyes chased all the butterflies away. For a fleeting moment, she felt as if he were visually making love to her.

She'd chosen wisely after all, she congratulated herself.

The winning selection was a floor-length, slender red dress that had made itself intimately familiar with every contour of her body. Slit up to her upper thigh, the edges flirted with her legs with every step she took,
turning every movement into a symphony of seduction. The dress had a high neckline that drew the eye to her bare shoulders. The back plunged down to her waist.

MacKenzie focused her attention on Quade. He was dashing in his tuxedo. She knew that if she said as much, it would probably annoy him and he was undoubtedly nervous enough.

So she couched her approval in more neutral, acceptable language he could live with. “You clean up nicely.”

Quade hardly heard her. His attention was riveted to the way the clingy material molded itself to her body. For two cents, he'd stay there tonight and make love with her until they both expired. It was far more appealing than standing up in front of a crowd, trying to expel words from a bone-dry mouth.

It's for a good cause, he reminded himself. His body wasn't so certain. “I was just thinking the same thing about you,” he told her.

She laughed, knowing that for him he'd paid her a heady compliment. “Thank you. Are you ready?”

He knew she was asking about the speech. She wanted to know if he felt prepared. And he didn't. The hug knots in his stomach weren't going to go until after the speech was over.

“No,” he told her honestly.

She felt for him. The last two go-rounds had been flawless, but that was because he'd delivered the speech to her. What if he came down with stage fright? In a way, it would be all her fault, because she'd been the one to get the ball rolling in the first place.