The Baby Consultant

by Anne Marie Winston

  “Frannie.”

  “What?” Her voice was a strained whisper; she dared not look at him.

  “We haven’t finished this.”

  She surfaced slowly from a deep, dreamless sleep. No, it hadn’t been dreamless. She’d been dreaming that she heard a baby crying.

  But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. As she remembered where she was, she realized the sound she heard was Alexa.

  She threw back the light cover and left the bed. As she turned toward the door, the glowing digital display of the clock announced that it was four-thirty in the morning. Alexa wasn’t screaming yet, just beginning to fuss. As soon as Frannie picked her up, she stopped, making little mewling sounds of relief.

  “That’s my baby. That’s my girl.” She rocked back and forth, rubbing the baby’s back as she grew quiet, feeling the frantic squirming lessen. “It’s no fun waking up all alone, is it?”

  With deft hands, she laid the infant down and changed her diaper, picking her back up before Alexa could get wound up again. When she put the child against her shoul der, Alexa began butting her head against Frannie’s collar bone. She recognized the signal—Alexa was programme to search for sustenance. “Are you hungry? I know you didn’t eat enough last night. Your poor ears were hurting too bad. Let’s go find your uncle Jack.”

  The words gave her pause as she remembered the early morning intimacy they’d shared, but she brushed the memory aside. It would be tomorrow in just a few hours and she’d be gone with the first light. Jack hadn’t really mean those whispered words; he might have been aroused and determined at the time, but he’d think better of it in the morning.

  Padding down the stairs with the child sucking furiously on her pacifier, she walked through the living room. Jack lay on the sofa, oblivious to their presence. He was on his stomach, with his face buried in one arm. The other trailed over the side of the couch and lay, relaxed and limp, on the carpet. The couch must have been purchased with his comfort in mind, she decided, because it was long enough to accommodate his whole length.

  She couldn’t bring herself to wake him, so she tiptoed into the kitchen. He had to be exhausted after his frantic worry over Alexa and their midnight hospital tour. Why wake him when she was already awake?

  Quietly she mixed a bottle of formula and heated it, then carried both the baby and the bottle up the steps. There was no rocking chair, no place even to sit in Alexa’s room, so she settled herself against a mound of pillows in Jack’s bed and fed her there. By the time the bottle was empty and Alexa was asleep again, Frannie was fighting to keep her own eyelids from drifting shut. The baby’s room seemed a long way down the hall, and they were both warm and comfortable... Scooting down, she laid the baby beside her and arranged pillows on the far side so Alexa couldn’t accidentally fall off the bed. She’d just keep her right here so she could hear her before she woke Jack the next time....

  She was awakened by a fly landing just below her eat tickling. Still caught in the warm, drowsy state of hal sleep, she waved her hand to brush it away.

  When a big, warm hand engulfed hers, she jerked and her eyes flew open. Jack’s face filled almost her entire field of vision as he lay propped on one elbow looking down a her.

  She searched his dancing eyes for a moment. “What any you doing?”

  He was sprawled across the other side of the bed, judging from the way the covers were pulled taut over her hips and blind panic surged as she remembered the baby “Where’s Alexa? She was sleeping right here with me.”

  “She’s fine. I moved her over between those two pillows. When I woke up a few minutes ago, I thought I’d check on her. She was sleeping like a little soldier right here with you cuddled around her.”

  Her body sagged as relief flowed through her. “I though for a moment you might have laid on her, or she rolled of the bed—”

  “You worry too much.” He shifted closer. There wa something she needed to say to him...but his free hand rested warm across her soft belly and his face hovered above hers... She was shocked at how desperately she wanted to know his mouth, wanted his kiss, needed it to soothe the aching tingle that made her hands tremble as she put her palms up to his naked chest and stroked over the furred planes, over his collarbones and out, to the smooth muscles of his shoulders and upper arms. It was a taci gesture of acceptance; she was tired of fending him of when she really didn’t want to, and he read it in her eyes Slowly he lowered his head.

  When his mouth covered hers, she nearly cried out in relief. For weeks now she’d wanted this, even if she hadn’t been able to admit it to herself. As his arms gathered he closer against him, she knew only that this had been between them, waiting impatiently to be acknowledged, since their very first meeting. She moaned, and he responded by smoothing his hand over her belly, sliding his palm surely up over the T-shirt to cover her breast in an intimate claim that, despite the thin layer of fabric that prevented true sensation, had her murmuring in delight and pressing closer against him. He shifted his weight to lie half over her, easing one leg between hers, and her body sang.

  “I could get used to this.” His voice was husky and deep as he broke away from the kiss with a deep intake of breath. He nuzzled his way along her neck.

  The words were an unwelcome intrusion into her easy, lazy, sensual haze. She stiffened as she came more awake, came more alert and realized that she was in Jack’s bed, with his weight sprawled across her and her arms around his neck. She pulled her hands away from the heavy muscles she’d been gently tracing. “Stop.”

  Did he even hear her? “Jack, stop.”

  Slowly he drew back a fraction to inspect her face, which probably looked as thoroughly kissed as she felt. He was silent for a long moment, and she couldn’t begin to guess at his thoughts but the look on his face froze her in place, temporarily shutting off her breath on a rush of caution. His normally open, friendly expression had vanished. His eyes were narrowed and intent; they glittered with silver fire. A brush stroke of red color rode high across each cheekbone, and he was breathing heavily.

  She knew an instant of purely primal female vulnerability. He was all male at this moment, a taker, dominant and commanding. If he chose to disregard her words, she knew he could, without uttering a single word, finish the heated lovemaking these caresses promised. A taut moment passed. Then she felt his body relax where it was pressed against hers, though he still didn’t move.

  His face relaxed, melted into the easygoing mask he wore for most of the world. A facade she now recognized bid an implacable will and a deep, fierce streak of determination.

  “Sorry.” There was a smile in his voice, though his eyes were still watchful. “I woke up and came looking for Alexa. The sight of you in my bed overwhelmed my common sense.”

  She snorted and pushed against his chest insistently, more sure of her ground now that he was teasing her again. The only way to get past this awkward moment was to joke. “Men are overwhelmed by my beauty all the time.”

  “I didn’t say you were beautiful.” He rolled off her to lie beside her again, propped on one elbow.

  The words were a slap in the face, the hurt unexpected and deep slicing. The good humor that had accompanied her mixed emotions at release vanished abruptly. She shoved at him, struggling to get away, to leave the bed, but he caught her wrists and held them easily in one big hand. Then he moved over her again, using his superior strength, forcing her to stay where she was.

  She turned her face away, using the only avenue of escape he left her, and her body stilled against his. He was the worst kind of cad she’d ever met, seducing women he wasn’t even interested in. She’d die before she’d let him know how his kisses had aroused a huge, throbbing need in her, how even now her body was urging her to move beneath the hard demand of his.

  “You didn’t let me finish that thought,” he said, and his words were hot puffs of molten air against her cheek.

  She wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of indic
ating that she knew he’d spoken.

  When he bent and set his lips against the pulse that beat in the side of her neck, her body jolted. She squirmed and shrugged to deny him access to the sensitive spot, but he only transferred his heated kisses to her jaw. He made an appreciative hum low in his throat and she realized he was enjoying her movements. “I didn’t say you were beautiful,” he said against her skin, “because that’s the wrong word to describe you.”

  “Spare me your astute observations.” Turning her head, she glared at him.

  “Don’t be obtuse.” For the first time she heard a hard edge in his tone, and when he raised his head, his eyes were pewter, dark and stormy, as he glared right back.

  Ha! She knew it. Underneath that velvet glove was an iron fist. But what did he mean, telling her not to be—

  “You’re a very desirable woman. You waltzed into my office in that prim little business suit, and all I could think about was how fast I could get your clothes off. A man senses softness beneath your surface and he wants it for himself. Beauty is a shallow word.” He paused, and his face relaxed into less rigid lines. “There’s nothing shallow about you.”

  She swallowed, searching his eyes for truth. If this was a line, he was even slicker than she had given him credit for. If it wasn’t...

  Why did he have to be so darned sweet? He was much easier to fend off when he was doing his macho male impression. She could feel herself yielding, losing the anger that had strengthened her resolve to resist him. “I have to get going,” she mumbled, looking away and avoiding his eyes as she pressed against his shoulders with her palms. “I have a lot of orders I want to work on today.”

  “Okay.” In one lithe move, he was off the bed. He lifted her in his arms and then let her slowly slide down over his body until she was on her feet. Then, while she was still too shocked and aroused to even think of protesting, he took her by the shoulders, pulling her to him and sealing his mouth on hers in a deep kiss that immediately blazed into a hot, uncontrollable exchange of passion.

  Her head fell back and her arms came up; she was moldable, malleable clay in his grip for one long second until suddenly he tore himself away. His chest was heaving, but his eyes were dancing with pleased complacency as he said, “Think about that while you work.”

  He walked around the end of the bed and lifted Alexa from the nest of pillows, then strode from the room without looking back.

  She dressed in the clothes she’d thrown on when he called last night, washed her face and decided not to bother with what little makeup she had in her purse, and did the best she could with her hair. Then she slowly went down the steps.

  Jack was sitting in the living room feeding Alexa a bottle. The sight of the big man with the tiny infant in his arms did something funny to her middle, as it did every time. He looked up, smiling, as she hovered by the stairs. “You’re welcome to have breakfast before you go. I don’t have much, but there’s cereal and fruit.”

  “No, thank you.” She hesitated. “Jack, I’m sorry for—that I didn’t—”

  “I’m sorry that you didn’t, too.” His grin was rueful, but then it vanished and he regarded her with sober eyes. “Frannie...I like being with you. Not just because you’ve helped with Alexa. Not just because if you crooked your finger, we’d be in bed faster than you could say please. It’s a combination of a lot of things. But I have to be honest with you. I’m not looking for a relationship. At least, not for anything beyond friendship and a great time in bed.” He shrugged, and looked out the window. “It sounds bad, I know. But that’s all I have to give. And if you aren’t interested in more than the friendship part, that’s okay. I’d like to be your friend.”

  “I’d like to be your friend, too.” Her voice was low. “But right now I don’t need the complications that anything else would create.”

  “I can live with that.” His easygoing smile was back in place.

  She was beginning to hate that expression. He slipped that mask on as if he’d had years of practice. Even his display of temper last night had been more honest, more real, than this. Where was the real Jack Ferris?

  Crossing to his side, she regarded the baby slurping down her breakfast. “I’d like to stay in touch. I’m starting to feel like I have a vested interest in this little one’s future.”

  “She’s going to need people who love her,” he said.

  “How about if I call you in a few days. We can go out for a meal or I could cook, depending on how Little Miss is scheduled at the time. Just friends.” But there was a glint in his eye that made her swallow and be glad he had his arms full of baby.

  She took a deep breath and the words poured out, even as she told herself she was doing something incredibly stupid. “That would be nice. But as a friend, how about if you come to my place and I cook? You have your hands full already. Is Thursday night good for you?”

  He nodded. “Thursday night would be great.”

  Four

  Jack swiveled his desk chair around to stare out the window at the shimmering waves of heat distorting the concrete landscape of the street outside. The early-summer sun was baking everything in sight. Baltimore was caught in the throes of a heat wave.

  Sort of like me, he thought. Tonight he and Alexa were going to have dinner at Frannie’s house. He’d thought of little else all week.

  He really should respect her wishes. But a part of him, the part that could lie without compunction and promise without conscience, knew that no way were he and Frannie destined to be “just friends.” No, unless nuclear war ended the world in the meantime, he was going to get her in his bed.

  The mere thought had him gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath as the fit of his dress pants suddenly changed radically. He’d been plagued by these unexpected, sudden hard-ons all week, ever since she’d lain beneath him in his bed. It was like being fifteen again, one big out-of-control hormone test. He’d hated it then and he hated it now. No, he hated it worse now. A grown man should have more self-control.

  But he was afraid that word didn’t exist in his body’s reaction to Frannie Brooks. How could she ignore the desire that ricocheted between them?

  He knew she felt it, that he wasn’t the only one affected. He’d seen her breath grow shallow and her lips get dry. He’d watched the taut tips of her nipples rise beneath her soft cotton shirt and he’d felt the hot, sweet response of her mouth under his for far too short a time. She gave off a searing heat that damn near melted him every time he got close.

  Well, the only melting he planned to do was directly connected to a slow, satisfying rise in the horizontal temperature he and Frannie created.

  But he wouldn’t push her. He could almost see the struggle going on inside her when he’d told her he wanted her. And it wasn’t only connected to the physical thing. She seemed completely unaware of what a challenge she presented to men. Or maybe she wasn’t unaware so much as she was deliberately discounting her effect. She gave the impression of being wary, of evaluating any compliment and refusing to allow it to warm her.

  Her mental evasion aroused every hunting instinct in his masculine cells. He’d figure out why she was so elusive. When he had her beneath him, her legs climbing his back and her hips begging him for release, he wanted more than simply physical pleasure.

  He wanted all of her.

  He wanted her. No one else, just Frannie.

  It was hard to face, wanting a particular woman again, and he made himself say it again. He’d sworn he was done with relationships. He’d spent five years in a marriage with a woman he’d been sexually infatuated with at first. Once that had worn off, he’d discovered that he didn’t know the real woman very well. And the more he got to know, the less he liked.

  Lannette had used sex to get what she wanted. And he’d liked her flirty ways. At first. Later, after they’d been married, he’d noticed she still didn’t hesitate to turn on the charm with other men. She’d been very used to getting her own way. When sex didn’t work,
she’d used tears. Immature. That’s what she’d been. It was probably a good thing they’d never had kids, even though he could still feel the sting of rejection he’d known when she’d told him she never wanted children.

  And yet, despite his resolve, here he was, practically forcing himself into another relationship with a woman who didn’t seem at all sure she was interested in him the way he was in her. But there’d been moments...the night she’d helped him when Alexa had been sick, for one. Yes, Frannie was wary. But uninterested? Not after that kiss.

  He shifted uncomfortably in the leather chair again, grimacing as he put down a hand and adjusted his unruly body, and it occurred to him that sitting around thinking about Frannie was masochistic. Reluctantly he swung back to his desk and glanced over the file for the last appointment of the day.

  Then he heard Alexa. Uh-oh. He glanced at his watch. Man, that kid could eat. He headed for the bassinet he’d bought and set up in the corner of his office. When he’d started bringing Lex to work, he’d sort of counted on his secretary to do the motherly thing. What he hadn’t counted on was her aversion to anything that smelled like sour milk, spit-up or dirty diapers most of the day.

  “Jack, you and I have worked together for a decade. Have you ever heard me cooing over babies or talk about becoming a mother?” She’d looked as panicked as he’d felt the first time the social worker had dumped Lex into his arms. “It might be a natural instinct for some women, but I’m definitely going to have to learn it. And I’m not ready to start practicing yet.”

  So much for help from that corner.

  Once he’d gotten the hang of handling a baby, it hadn’t gone too badly. But Lex was growing visibly every week, and as she did, she was beginning to stay awake for longer and longer periods of time.

  As he slung the diaper bag over his shoulder and headed out to the car with Alexa, he realized that he was going to have to bite the bullet and hire a baby-sitter, even if the person didn’t get a perfect score on his mental list None of the places he’d investigated seemed suitable. He’d seen horror stories of infants mistreated by supposedly loving caregivers, and he was terrified by the thought of Alexa in the hands of some maniacal nanny five days a week. She was his baby now, and he was going to do this parent thing right.