by Elley Arden
Damn. She was serious—or at least she thought she was serious. Either way, he couldn’t bolt, which was what the pea-sized, rational part of his brain was screaming for him to do. He owed her the chance to explain—or at least to talk herself out of the craziness.
He stared at the top of her head, trying to determine his next move. All he could think was how he expected tonight to hold a proposition. He just never expected a proposition like this.
* * *
Trish wanted to drop to her knees and dig a hole where she could bury herself along with her ludicrous ideas. Any man in his right mind would run, but not before he tried to convince her to admit herself for observation at the nearest psychiatric unit.
She saw the tips of Tony’s dress shoes before she saw his hand, reaching for hers.
“Can we have this conversation inside?” He laced his fingers with hers and pulled her hand to his chest. “If I have relatives on every block in Pittsburgh, one of them is bound to see us. Can you imagine the rumors?”
She lifted her head and spit out a laugh. “Yeah, well the rumors can’t be half as crazy as the truth.”
Still he was smiling that crooked, heart-swelling grin that got her into this mess in the first place.
“Come on,” he said, tossing his head toward the door and tugging on her hand until she had no choice but to follow.
They walked the flagstone path in silence, giving Trish plenty of time to rehash her stupidity. But with her hand warmed in his, it was hard not to be hopeful. Maybe the idea wasn’t as crazy as it seemed.
At the top of the porch steps, they stopped, and Tony faced her. “Key.” He pointed to her left breast.
Trish looked at his finger, lightly touching the black fabric of his suit coat she was still wearing, and then he flipped the lapel and slipped his hand inside the pocket, all the while brushing her breast with the back of his hand.
The moment was over in two blinks, but her goose-pimpled skin lingered.
“After you,” he said, opening the front door, releasing her hand and stepping aside.
She walked into her house, stopping in the foyer, staring at the black tips of her shoes, listening to the door closing behind them.
“Point me to the kitchen. I’ll make you some tea.”
“Tea?” She turned around on the random offer.
Tony shrugged. “People in distress always drink tea on TV.” His crooked smile didn’t take the edge off the word “distress.”
“I’m not distressed, Tony, and I don’t want tea.”
“Okay.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and inhaled enough to raise his chest against the cool blue of his dress shirt. He looked bigger and stronger than she remembered, and at the moment she wished she’d never mentioned a baby.
“I’m sorry, Tony.”
“Listen, Trish. I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’re right. I pushed you. All those insinuations. The motorcycle ride. The hand up your leg…” His eyes darkened along with the dip in his cheek. “Yeah. I crossed the line.”
Maybe, but it was a line that needed to be crossed by someone if she ever wanted to have a baby. She’d spent two years so concerned with finding the appropriate candidate she never let her guard down enough to feel half the desire Tony elicited from her during one non-date.
She cleared the nerves from her throat. She could do this. She sold her ideas to hundreds of clients every year. This didn’t have to be any different. “I really hope you’ll consider crossing that line again, but first,” she clasped her hands in front of her, “hear me out.”
He raised one beautiful black brow.
“In the living room,” she said, walking away from him, hoping he’d follow.
A rush of adrenaline boosted her confidence when she didn’t hear the front door open and close. I can do this, she thought over and over again.
Stepping into the living room, she stopped on the edge of a blood red Persian rug and slipped his coat from her arms, letting it fall below her backside, hoping Tony still liked what he saw when he looked at her. Of course, hers wasn’t the usual seduction with success being a quick trip to bed. She had exactly one shot to convince this man that she was worth the trouble it would take to get her pregnant.
Trish cringed. She was an idiot.
With a sigh, she faced him and held out his coat. “I’m good. You can have this back.”
He reached for the jacket with a smile. “I can’t figure you out.”
“Just wait.” She walked to the sofa and sat, mostly because her feet hurt and her knees were weak, but partly because she expected him to leave her disappointed, and the sofa would make the perfect place to brood. “So here goes.” She sucked a mouthful of air and shot it right back out her mouth. “I’m adopted.”
“You said that.” He walked to the chair closest to her and sat, crossing his ankle over his knee, draping the suit coat across his lap.
“I want a baby.”
“You said that too.”
“Tony, stop interrupting me. This is hard enough.”
He grinned, nodded and propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, bringing his fingers to his lips. He was so embarrassingly attractive, the idea of making a baby with him had her toes curling in her shoes and heat creeping up her face.
She looked to the brilliant white crown molding over his head. “A couple years ago I decided time was running out, and if I wanted to ever have a baby I was going to have to make it a major focus. When I wasn’t working on my other major focus—design—I was systematically dating prospective husbands and fathers. I know that sounds desperate and terribly unromantic, but I tend to be a methodical person.” Tony chuckled. Trish gave him the stink eye. “Anyhow, that didn’t work so well. Everyone fell short.”
“Except me.” He grinned.
“Shush.” She would not let that grin rattle her. “I thought about a sperm bank.” Her cheeks heated again. “But not knowing either of my biological parents, it’s important to me that my child knows both of his or hers. So it was back to dating, only this time I didn’t care about finding a husband. My sole focus was to find a man I could have a baby with. No strings, really. Except I hoped he’d be willing to see the child a couple times a year. After Jackson likened having kids to having surgery without anesthesia, I was starting to give up hope, but then…”
“Me.” He rested his folded hands in his lap.
“You.” Trish nodded. “All the talk about Nonna’s list, and your comment about wanting kids but not the marriage. And…the chemistry between us.” She studied the crown molding again. “I had to ask. You may be my best shot.”
“I’m flattered.”
“But you still think I’m crazy.”
“No, I get why you want a baby, and I respect that you’ve given it a lot of thought.”
“But you don’t want to have a baby with me.”
He laughed, stood and crossed the carpet to settle on the sofa beside her where he wrapped his hands around hers. “There’s still more to think about.”
“Like?”
His thumbs traced tiny circles on her knuckles. “What’ll Ange say about this?”
Trish managed a painful swallow as she watched Tony’s thumbs swirl. She wished the luscious sensation of being held in his hands outweighed the sickening sensation of imagining Angie’s reaction to the news. “She wasn’t happy I asked you to the wedding.”
“Exactly. Vin wasn’t happy either. We could screw up a lot here, Trish.”
She knew that, but she knew something else, too. “Think of Nonna, Tony.” Trish squeezed his hands. “And what if we had a son? We could do a lot of good here, too.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tony didn’t think Trish was crazy, but he might be. Sitting on the couch beside her with the proposition floating between them, he was 99 percent in favor of having a baby with her. It would certainly solve his problem of what big, happy contribution he could make to Nonna’s wish list. And heck, he wasn’t getti
ng any younger. Thirty-three wasn’t old, but if he waited for the urge to do things the traditional way, it would be too late.
He glanced at her, studying the palms of her hands. She slid a stack of silver rings up and down her index finger. If he was going to have a child with anyone, she’d be a good choice, not because of any romantic notions, but because he liked her, respected her, knew she’d raise a child right, which in Tony’s opinion meant lots of love and security. If her business and friendships were any indication, Trish DeVign didn’t do anything halfway.
And heck, she was gorgeous. Making a kid with her was bound to create a perfect human specimen. Still, it wasn’t an easy decision. There were…logistics. Whens and hows. Not that he didn’t know how to get a woman pregnant, but Trish was the designer of this plan, maybe she wanted to handle things medically rather than the old-fashioned way.
Tony liked the old-fashioned way.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his widened knees. “You said you’ve been thinking about this for a long time, got it all planned out. How exactly did you imagine making this baby?”
She squirmed on the cushion beside him, shoving her folded hands between her locked thighs. “The usual way.”
Tony smiled.
“I’m totally clean,” she continued. “I can get paperwork from my doctor as proof. I was just there…to make sure, so you don’t have to worry about that. Of course, I’d want verification that you’re good, too. Oh, and you don’t have to worry about knocking my socks off or anything. It’s purely clinical. Tactical. You know?”
No. He didn’t. He hadn’t had sex in the purely clinical sense since he was seventeen. He wasn’t sure he could go back to that, even if he wanted to. “That’s a bummer. You said we had chemistry.”
“We do.”
“Then what makes you think we can’t have a little fun while we make a baby?”
She shrugged. “I’m a little uptight when I’m trying to achieve something.” She looked everywhere but him, pulling her bottom lip between rows of perfect teeth.
He chuckled. “Are we talking baby or orgasm here?”
The red of her cheeks matched the red stripe on her walls. “Both,” she squeaked.
He squeezed her knee. “Trust me. You would be in good hands—on both accounts.”
Either the contact or the words made her jump, and her jump made Tony wonder how she’d ever relax enough to actually go through with her plan.
He straightened and angled his body to her. “We need to sleep on this.” She opened her mouth and sucked in a breath. “In separate beds,” he added with a smile. “I need to go home. You need to stay here. And we need to think some more before we act.”
She nodded. “I suppose that’s best.”
“If we do this thing, we’re going to have to spend a lot of time together to convince my family it’s real. I’ll piss them off if it looks like I’m just messing around with you.”
But truth be told, messing around with Trish hadn’t left his mind since he laid eyes on her in those fishnet stockings. And to think he was this close to a free pass.
He slipped a hand to her face, cradling her soft cheek, loving how she responded, dropping her chin and resting against him. “Good night,” he whispered, pulling her face gently to him as he leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He stood, snatched his coat off a nearby chair and walked into the hall.
“Thank you, Tony.”
He stopped with his hand on the front door knob. “For what?”
“For not thinking I’m crazy.” She lifted a hand and brushed a clump of hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear, letting her fingers rest at the back of her neck. With her head tilted and her lower lip drawn between her teeth, she looked nervous, but her blue eyes sparkled with determination. There it was again, that irresistible blend that made Trish unique and Tony interested.
He had to remind himself it wasn’t smart for him to stay until they both had more time to think things through. With a smile and a twist of the knob, he stepped outside. “Lock this door behind me.”
“Okay.” She raised a thin brow and wrapped her arms around her waist. The motion deepened her cleavage.
Tony stood on the porch, toes touching the metal threshold separating wooden slats from slate title. “Whatever you do, don’t let me back in.”
She dropped her arms and walked those wicked legs in his direction, stopping just inside the foyer, toes touching the metal threshold too. “Don’t let you back in ever?”
“Just tonight.”
“Ah.” Her lips hitched as she nodded. “Chemistry, right?”
“Absolutely,” he answered, stepping backward so as not to get caught up in the tractor beam pull. Not yet, anyway. He had a lot of thinking to do.
* * *
The next morning, Tony squatted beside the bench seat he’d removed from Angie’s Cadillac, hoping that working on Angie’s project would take his mind off Trish’s project—that one kept him up all night. If he wasn’t thinking about how much fun he’d have making a baby with Trish, he was thinking about how much fun he’d have being a father. But when he stripped away the thoughts of fun, he was left with a couple concerns, like how fast could a woman get pregnant, and how long did Nonna have to live?
He knew the basics about pregnancy. He knew how to make it happen. He knew babies baked for nine months. But he didn’t know if Nonna had nine months to live. No one did. He’d seen her a handful of times since the diagnosis, and she didn’t look any different to him. Sadder maybe, but not sick. Even the doctors couldn’t be pinned to a timeframe, and chemo and radiation could change the course of things. All Tony knew for sure was that if he wanted this baby to bring joy to Nonna, then the faster he could get Trish pregnant, the better. So what was stopping him?
He scraped a palm over the stubble on his left cheek and reached for an electric carving knife, hoping the mindless motion of cutting foam would put his worries to rest, but before he could flip the switch, a bang vibrated the garage walls.
“Grinding?”
“Excuse me?” Tony didn’t look in Angie’s direction.
“What were you thinking, Tony? Grinding with Trish!”
He looked then, more than a little surprised his sister had details about last night this early in the a.m. “She told you?”
“No, Piper Betts couldn’t wait to tell me. She’s keyboardist in that jazz band.”
“Oh,” he said, sitting back on his heels, oddly relived that Trish hadn’t been the one to spill the beans about their dirty dancing. How would they ever pull this baby thing off if she was blabbing gory details to Angie? “I didn’t see Piper there.”
“Of course you didn’t. You were too busy grinding against my best friend.”
“So what?” He shrugged and turned his attention to the foam, picking lint from the yellow rectangle.
“You must’ve mortified her. DeVigns don’t grind.”
The image of Trish in fishnet stockings dropping low to the ground as she smoothed her ass against him burned a hole through his brain. “Yeah? Well, you’re misinformed. Trish is a mighty fine grinder.”
Something scratchy but moist hit him square in the forehead. “Hey.” He looked at the carwash sponge Angie had pitched at his head. “What was that for?”
“Don’t fuck with her, Tony.” When he looked up, he saw Angie holding a ball peen hammer in her hand. He knew better than to worry she would throw that, too, but it sure gave her an ominous edge. “Trish is not for hire in your harem. She’s kind and sincere, and you’ll break her heart.”
’Cause in Angie’s eyes that was all he ever did—love ’em and leave ’em. Angie didn’t get that these things could be mutual. “Trish is a big girl,” he said, snatching the carwash sponge from the foam and tossing it to the garage floor.
“Damn it, Tony. I’m serious. There’s not a sincere bone in your body, unless you count the one in your pants. A
nd I don’t. Leave Trish alone. I don’t want to be cleaning up another one of your messes, especially if it involves my friend.”
Back to this again. Angie considered manning Dad’s carpentry company “cleaning up” one of Tony’s messes. If only he’d been responsible enough to do the right thing and follow in the old man’s footsteps, Angie would be the one running around carefree. Or not. She wasn’t exactly the carefree type. Whatever. If she wanted to blame him for her moodiness, so be it. Nothing new. And she was probably right to be warning him off Trish.
Tony switched on the electric knife. He could only imagine what Angie would say if she knew the extent of the mess he was considering creating with her best friend. Cutting into the foam, he relaxed and reminded himself he hadn’t done anything stupid yet.
There was still a glimmer of hope for him.
* * *
When Trish heard the bell over the front door chime, she looked up from the media room sketch she’d been battling all morning. Angie walked toward Trish’s desk, keeping to the natural aisle formed between a row of model furniture and a line of floral accents. She wasn’t dressed for work, and her face was missing a smile.
“Hey, you,” Trish said brightly, despite the nerves picking at her neck. It was awkward seeing Angie so soon after what transpired last night with Tony. “Did we have a meeting scheduled?”
“No, but I’m thinking we should talk.” Angie’s nose crinkled and her nostrils flared.
“What’s up?” Upon inhaling, Trish sucked the words right back into the pit of her upset stomach. Angie was on to her.
“Piper Betts saw you grinding with my brother.”
“Who’s Piper Betts, and since when did we return to middle school?” Trish laughed, hoping to keep the conversation light and not incriminating.
Angie dropped onto the Lucite chair opposite from Trish’s desk. “Piper’s an old friend. She plays in the band that played at your cousin’s wedding.”
“Oh.” Trish rolled her pencil and three markers off the paper in front of her, settling them on the desk.
