She willed the image away. Shut her eyes. Thought of Gran, of what would happen after her surgery. Mustered up thoughts of Adam. Tried to imagine Adam holding a baby—their baby—close, cradling it in his arms.
But a hypothetical baby couldn’t compete with the real one making sounds on the other side of the wall. She heard little whimpers and coos from Harry. Then a soft deep masculine voice replied. As if they were having a conversation.
Yiannis and a baby.
Cat’s throat tightened. She swallowed, cleared it determinedly, thrust away the fantasies. They weren’t real even if Harry was.
But then she heard another sound. No. Impossible. Her mind instantly rejected it. And yet—she strained to listen closer. Yes, she could still hear it. Soft. Rhythmic. Melodic.
Yiannis Savas was crooning a lullaby in the other room.
CHAPTER THREE
BY THE time the door opened to the bedroom again scant hours later, Cat had dragged herself up, got dressed and, most importantly, had her game face on.
She’d lain awake after the lullaby, trying not to contemplate the visions it evoked, reminding herself that Yiannis was still the same man and she was the same woman. Nearly three years might have passed, but they still wanted different things.
Just because he could give a bottle and lull a baby to sleep didn’t mean he wanted one or two or three of his own.
Adam did. He’d said so.
She needed to remember that.
She had showered and dressed, then put on her going-to-the-hospital clothes—buff-colored canvas cropped pants and a peasanty sort of top in rusts and oranges and golds that was more eye-catchingly bright than her hair. It was a form of camouflage. Yiannis had delighted in running his fingers through it. Now she had it tamed, pulled back into a band so tight it made her scalp hurt. The pinch of it would be an extra reminder, she thought as she sat at the kitchen table, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands.
Now as the door opened, she turned a bright, if not entirely sincere, smile on the man who emerged—dressed, too, thank God—and the baby he held in his arms. Yiannis’s jaw was gorgeously stubbled and she remembered that heavy-lidded gaze from the mornings she’d awakened next to him. Determinedly she steeled her emotions against the memory. “Good morning,” she said briskly.
“Morning.” His voice was still gravelly with sleep, but in it she heard a slight roughness she recalled from hearing through the wall as he had sung a lullaby scant hours ago.
“Did you sleep well?” She kept her tone bright. Maybe too bright. But if so, too late. The words were already out of her mouth.
He gave her a baleful look. “Oh, definitely.” The look he gave her belied the words.
It wasn’t her fault, she wanted to remind him. She wasn’t the one who’d kept him up. That was Harry—and Harry wasn’t hers. But she didn’t want to go there with him this morning. Or any morning, for that matter.
So she just said cheerfully, “Good morning, Harry,” turning her focus on the little boy. “Did you sleep well?”
Harry obviously knew she was talking to him. He turned and hid his face in Yiannis’s chest.
Great. Another male who wanted nothing to do with her.
She would have reached out and tickled his bare toes, but that would mean coming into close proximity to Yiannis’s midriff. And even though it was completely covered by a faded navy blue T-shirt this morning, she didn’t want to get too close.
“I made coffee,” she said, “If you want some.”
Yiannis loved his morning coffee, and knowing that, she’d very nearly decided not to make a pot. But to prove she was an adult and it didn’t matter, she had.
Now, though, the smile he gave her did such disastrous things to the beat of her heart that she was wishing she’d given it a miss.
“You are a godsend.” He shifted the boy to his other arm, so he could use his right hand to pour the coffee into a mug. “Thank you.” The words were heartfelt and he raised the mug toward his lips.
Instantly Harry reached for it. But with complete ease, Yiannis shifted his body to keep Harry firmly ensconced and the hot coffee well out of the boy’s reach.
Cat’s brows lifted. “You’re very good at that.”
Yiannis blinked. “Good at pouring coffee?”
“At keeping the coffee away from him.”
“Plenty of practice.”
“All those little children you’ve got?”
“All those little nieces and nephews and cousins.” He grimaced.
But she felt a prick of envy. “Really?” It occurred to her that while she’d been busy embroidering her fantasies of Yiannis as the father of her children, they’d never really talked about his family much.
“Hordes of ‘em.”
“Lucky you.”
He grunted. “As long as they’re somebody else’s.”
No, he definitely hadn’t changed. But whether he liked kids or not, his ease with Harry was obvious. He moved easily around the kitchen, getting one of Harry’s clean bottles off the counter and filling it with water, then deftly flicking the plastic lid off a tin of dried formula powder. It was only when he tried to measure scoops of the powder into the narrow mouth of the bottle while Harry squirmed in his arms that he had a bit of a problem.
Cat was glad to know there were limits to his expertise.
“Let me do that,” she said, getting up and taking the measuring scoop from him. Their fingers brushed. Perversely—annoyingly—Cat’s tingled at the merest touch. Good grief, it was like something out of a romance novel.
Minus the hero, of course. She fumbled the scoop and it slipped through her fingers and fell on the counter. He handed it back to her.
Feeling like a fool, she stuck it in the tin again. “How many more?”
“Three.” He watched as she dumped each in the bottle, standing so close that she could almost feel the heat emanating from his skin.
“Go sit down,” she snapped, as she finished and put the nipple on the bottle. She shook the bottle energetically, still with her back turned, so she jumped when a hand snaked around and opened the drawer she was blocking.
“What are you—?”
“Just getting a spoon,” he said in patient, soothing, highly irritating tones. “I need to feed him.”
“The bottle—”
“That, too.” His arm brushed against her as he extracted a spoon from the drawer. This time Cat managed not to jerk away, but she hated the awareness that wouldn’t let her alone, and she was glad when he crossed the room to grab a jar of peaches from the counter top and then, finally, sat down at the table dangling Harry on his knee.
“I think there’s a high chair sort of thing in the closet,” Cat offered. “It clamps to the table. I’ve seen it before. Misty apparently left it here so she wouldn’t have to lug a high chair back and forth. I gather she brings Harry to Gran’s often.”
Now she crossed the room and opened the broom closet. “Here it is.” She pulled a metal and canvas contraption out. She was sure it wasn’t rocket science to figure out how it worked, but it wasn’t intuitively obvious, either.
But even as she stared at it, Yiannis said, “Give it here.” He took it from her and at the same time thrust Harry into her arms.
“Wha—!” The squirming bundle that was Harry was heavier than she thought. Also he had a mind of his own. She almost dropped him before she got a firm grip and wedged him against her middle, then wrapped her arms firmly around him.
As she’d told Yiannis last night, she was used to preschoolers, not babies. It felt odd, holding this one. But it also felt every bit as right as she’d dared to hope it would feel, and she couldn’t resist dipping her head to brush her nose and lips against Harry’s downy head and breathe in the scent of baby shampoo and clean laundry.
Yiannis made quick work of opening, fitting and clamping the collapsible chair to the table top. Cat tried not to be impressed. Harry wriggled in her arms and turned to see who was hold
ing him, then reached up and pulled at strands of her ruthlessly scraped back hair.
“Ouch!”
Yiannis looked up and grinned at Harry’s fingers in her hair. “A man after my own heart.”
Face burning at the memory of how she’d loved Yiannis’s fingers in her hair, Cat tried to loosen Harry’s.
“Let me.”
Before she could protest strong masculine fingers were gently easing Harry’s death grip. Yiannis’s thumb and knuckles grazed her cheek, then she was free, and he was brushing her hair lightly off her face. She tried to remain immobile and indifferent.
She got fifty percent on that.
Yiannis’s eyes met hers. She could see desire in them. She hoped he couldn’t see anything at all in hers.
“Oh, good. You’ve got a chair, Harry,” she said to the little boy and moved to put him in the seat. But Yiannis took him out of her arms and promptly plopped Harry into the chair he’d clamped to the table.
Harry looked startled, then as if remembering what happened when he sat in this chair, he grinned widely and banged his hands vigorously on the table top.
“Where’s my grub?” Yiannis said with an indulgent grin. He ruffled Harry’s hair, then sat down once more and began to spoon peaches into Harry’s mouth.
For a moment Cat could do nothing but watch. And yearn.
“I can do that,” she said abruptly. “You can go.”
“Here’s your hat. What’s your hurry? As my grandmother used to say.” Yiannis cocked a brow and challenged her with a look.
“I’m sure you’re busy, that you have things to do today.”
“Yeah.” But he didn’t stop feeding Harry.
Cat scowled and shifted from one foot to the other. “And I certainly appreciate your taking care of him yesterday and … last night,” she added awkwardly. “But I don’t want to take any more of your time.”
“Don’t you?” One dark brow lifted. Another challenge. But she didn’t quite understand this one.
“No.”
“You’re not going to the hospital?”
“Of course I’m going to the hospital. Gran’s surgery’s at nine. I need to get Harry fed and changed and get on my way—” she glanced at her watch “—soon. Does Harry have a diaper bag?”
“Probably. He’s got a load of stuff.” Yiannis spooned another mouthful into Harry. “But he can’t go with you.”
“What? Why not? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of him!” She bristled, indignant that he would imply otherwise just because she’d admitted she didn’t have a lot of experience.
“Kids aren’t allowed.”
She stared. “What?”
“No kids under fourteen. Contagious diseases. Flu, that sort of thing.”
“You’re joking.” But as she said it, she knew he was not. “I didn’t realize …”
“Neither did I until they wouldn’t let us go up on her floor yesterday.”
Cat opened her mouth, then shut it again, confronting the logistics of taking care of Harry and being at the hospital at the same time.
“Harry can stay with me.”
“But you—”
The look Yiannis was giving her dared her to argue. Another spoonful went into Harry’s mouth. And another.
“I hate to take advantage,” she said hesitantly.
Yiannis shrugged, not looking as if he were being taken advantage of at all. “We’ll be fine, won’t we, buddy?” And the two males grinned at each other. Cat had obviously been left out of the equation entirely.
“Well,” she said, “thank you.”
Yiannis didn’t look at her. “Give her our best.” Clearly she’d been dismissed. Yiannis went back to feeding Harry the peaches.
When Cat got to the hospital forty-five minutes later, Gran had already been moved from her bed onto the gurney. She smiled muzzily when Cat came in.
“I feel like something out of the age of Aquarius,” Gran mumbled, lifting her hand in greeting but then letting it drop back against the sheet again.
Cat laughed, but couldn’t help worrying. Her normally energetic grandmother looked pale and exhausted. Yes, she was probably sedated, and yes, she’d smiled and joked a bit. But Cat’s confidence wasn’t inspired.
Still she put on her own mental sound recording of “Whistle a Happy Tune” and said determinedly, “You can audition next time they decide to do a production at the musical theater.” She reached out and took one of Gran’s hands in hers. It was far cooler than usual and her grandmother’s skin seemed almost papery when she bent down and kissed her cheek.
Gran smiled and touched Cat’s cheek, trailed her fingers along it lightly. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll make the chorus line this year,” she said wryly. Then she looked past Cat toward the doorway. “Where’s Adam?”
“Adam?” Cat blinked in surprise and glanced over her shoulder as if she might see him, which she knew she wouldn’t. Gran was not particularly a fan of Adam’s, though Cat was at pains to understand why. “At work, I should think.”
“He didn’t come?”
“You wanted him?” Another surprise.
“Of course not.” Gran gave a feeble wave of her hand. “But I thought you might.”
“I—well, of course, I’d have loved it if Adam could have come. But he can’t just take off without warning.” Adam’s job was demanding and, unlike hers, more than full-time. “Besides I didn’t know when I’d get back. I told him I’d call and let him know how it is after you’re recovering and I see how you can cope. Which reminds me,” she said, fixing her grandmother with a firm look, “when we spoke yesterday, somehow you didn’t mention Harry.”
“Ah.” Gran closed her eyes. “Harry.” A slight smile touched her lips.
At the sight of the smile, Cat couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “I can’t believe you let Misty stick you with him!”
Gran didn’t open her eyes. “She’s going to talk to Devin.”
“So I heard. But that’s no excuse.”
Her eyes stayed closed, but Gran raised her brows. “Really? I thought it was a pretty good one,” she murmured.
Cat ground her teeth. She knew Gran let Misty get away with plenty, but she didn’t think her grandmother actually condoned her behavior. “She takes advantage.”
“Well, yes, but it’s just—”
“—the way she is, dear,” Cat finished for her, still annoyed. It was her grandmother’s standard dismissal of inappropriate behavior. “But that doesn’t mean it’s right.”
“I hope you’re not intending to take this out on Harry.”
“Of course not.”
“Or Yiannis?” Gran’s eyes opened, clear and blue and sharp. What happened to the age of Aquarius? Or the sedation?
“Yiannis is doing fine. He and Harry are thick as thieves.”
Gran smiled. “I thought they would be.” She folded her hands just below her breasts and shut her eyes.
“Stop that,” Cat said. “You look like a corpse.”
Gran laughed. “Not that far gone.”
“Good.” Cat took both her grandmother’s hands and pressed them between hers. “You have to get well,” she said urgently, emotions she’d been suppressing threatening to surface all of a sudden. “You’re all I’ve got.”
“I thought you had Adam,” Gran said. But before Cat could reply that of course she had Adam, that wasn’t the same thing, Gran went on. “Where’s Harry now?”
“With Yiannis,” Cat said stiffly.
“Ah.” Gran’s lids drifted shut. Her voice grew soft and sleepy again. She smiled, serene and satisfied. “You should marry a man like that.”
“Yiannis has no interest in getting married,” Cat said sharply.
Gran’s eyes snapped open. “You’ve discussed it?” she demanded.
Cat shrugged dismissively. “It was mentioned in passing.”
She had never shared any of her hopes or dreams with her grandmother. Gran knew she and Yiannis had g
one out a few times. But after living in the apartment behind him this long, Gran must realize that he had gone out a few times with half the women in Southern California and wasn’t interested in a serious relationship.
“Maybe you should discuss it again.”
Or maybe not.
“I’ll see you in recovery,” Cat said, bending to give her grandmother a kiss. “I love you. And I’ll be whistling a happy tune for you.”
But she wouldn’t be talking to Yiannis about marriage. There were some conversations that wouldn’t go any better the second time around.
“Family reunion?” Yiannis could feel the word “No,” forming on his lips even as he echoed what his mother had just said. But flat-out refusals rarely succeeded with Malena Savas. So he tried hedging. “I’m not sure I can make it.”
He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder and bent to reach under the kitchen table and scoop a fast-moving Harry up before the boy could poke his finger into an electrical outlet.
“That’s why I’m calling early. To give you plenty of notice. That way you can make sure you have the weekend free.” His mother sounded all bright and chipper, but her tone held that be-here-under-pain-of-excommunication edge to it that her children all recognized.
But Yiannis hadn’t spent a lifetime perfecting avoidance techniques to let himself be trapped that easily. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his family. He did—individually. It was that he didn’t like crowds. And his family all together “reuniting” was, by any definition, a crowd.
“When is it?”
Having been foiled in his attempt to electrocute himself, Harry was now trying to poke Yiannis’s eyes out. Yiannis batted hands with him, silently. But Harry was giggling.
“Mother’s Day weekend,” his mother said. “What’s that noise?”
“Dish washer.”
“It sounds like a child. A baby. Babbling!” Her voice brightened instantly. “Yiannis? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“That I don’t know if I can come that weekend.”
Malena made an irritated sound. “I picked it specially because your father will be here.” Socrates had had a heart attack before Christmas, but he was now back to his full over-worked schedule. Yiannis knew his mother wasn’t happy about that, but she’d obviously adjusted. “And,” she went on, “so you could all justify coming not just to the reunion but as a way of showing your mother how much you love her.”
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