“You flatter yourself,” Jack shot back, clearly pleased with himself for getting in the last word.
But Jillian didn’t take offense. “Somebody’s got to,” she said drolly. Then she turned to Ronan. “You know, Ronan, I have to give you credit.” The pretty blond gave him the first genuine, uncomplicated smile of simple friendliness he’d seen since he’d met her.
“Gee, whiz.” He mimed growing faint as he turned to Jack. “She’s giving me credit. I don’t think I can take it.” In the nine months since he’d married Deirdre, he’d come to a sort of armed stand-off with Jillian, ignoring her unless circumstances absolutely forced them to acknowledge each other. The woman had the temperament of a viper and a tongue like a shrew.
Now she stood in front of him, still smiling, but there wasn’t a trace of malice or sarcasm in her tone. “I could tell that you were mad enough to deck me the day Dee told us she was pregnant. I might even have been pushing a few of your buttons on purpose—”
“Might have been?”
“But you never seriously considered it.”
“Oh, no?” He raised an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Deirdre needed a man who doesn’t think violence is an acceptable way to solve a problem. I think I like you.”
“Gee, I’m flattered.” He wasn’t ready to forgive her for some of those stinging comments yet. But her sunny smile was infectious, and after a moment he felt himself struggling not to smile back at her. Finally he grinned, shaking his head. “You’re a smart aleck, and a pain in the butt. But I think I like you, too.”
“Friends?” She stuck out her hand.
“Friends,” he agreed. Over her head, his wife caught his eye, and the warmth in the unspoken message made him feel a little guilty. Though Deirdre had never said anything, he knew the animosity between her husband and her best friend had bothered her. As he drew away from the handshake, he noticed that Jillian’s smile had grown distinctly smug. “Now what are you up to?” he demanded.
Jillian made her eyes round and innocent. “Who, me?” Then she turned to Jack. “You owe me a C-note.”
Ronan was puzzled. “Why do you owe her a hundred bucks?” he said to the bigger man.
Jack was practically foaming at the mouth as he opened his wallet and extracted five twenties. He slapped them into Jillian’s outstretched palm. “At your wedding, I bet her it would take at least a year before she could charm you into smiling at her.”
“Thanks. To both of you,” she said with a grin, before blowing them both a kiss and walking away trailing a laugh behind her.
“Oh. Sorry. I lasted nine months.” Laughter bubbled up and rolled out before he could control it. “Maybe if you kiss her, ah, feet, she’ll prorate it,” he said, still chucking.
“Fat chance.” Jack slung an arm around Ronan’s shoulders and caught him in a friendly headlock. “Deirdre looks great with a baby in her arms again, pal.”
“She looks great, period.” Ronan gave Jack a hefty shove that sent him staggering back a step. “Your boy isn’t going to be allowed near my baby girl, if he’s anything like you.”
“Brooks is exactly like me.” Jack lifted an arm and curled it, exaggerating the biceps. “And the next one’s going to be, too.”
“The next one’s going to be a girl.” Ronan glanced across the grass at Frannie, who had just announced she was expecting another little Ferris to arrive in December. She was leaning over Ronan’s daughter Maureen, snuggled in Deirdre’s arms. Maureen would be two months old next week, on the twentieth of May. His life had been changed forever the day a nurse had handed his newborn child to him. He’d looked into the tiny face and seen himself. He hadn’t thought he could love Deirdre any more than he already did.
He’d been wrong. A warm, satisfied feeling swelled in his chest as he looked at his two women. His. And they both loved him.
Habit made him glance around for Lee and Tommy, but they were nowhere to be seen. Not a good omen. His sons could wreak havoc in a shorter amount of time than an earthquake. Out of sight was definitely not out of mind with them.
Deirdre rose from her chair as he started across the grass, and they met near the barbecue pit.
“Hey, handsome,” she said. “Want to make a date for tonight?”
Her words made his pulse leap. Along with other parts of him. “Love to.” He put his arms around her, the baby cuddled between them. “Six weeks away from you made me so horny it’s going to take months to wear off.”
She smiled, deliberately pressing herself closer so that their bodies were a seamless fit and her voice was a husky murmur. “Good.”
And as he dropped his head and sought her lips, he felt the sweet warmth that her loving presence always offered him. It was so much more than simply sex, that he was humbled anew every time she turned those big green eyes his way. “Do you know what today is?” he muttered against her lips.
“A good day for making love?” She shifted her hips in the tiniest motion, but it made him suck in his breath and groan.
“That, too.” He caught her by the hips when she would have moved again. “Stop that, or we’re going to give our friends the shock of their lives.” He looked down at her, savoring the moment. “One year ago today I walked into a grocery store and found the woman of my dreams.”
Her eyes widened, and the dimples he so loved appeared in her cheeks. “You’re right!” Her smile was crafty. “I guess we’ll have to figure out some way to celebrate on our date tonight.”
He laughed. “You’ve got a one-track mind, woman.” But he didn’t care. He was counting the hours, too, until he could get her alone and show her just how much this anniversary meant to him. The day he’d walked into that supermarket was the luckiest day of his life. He’d found the part of himself he hadn’t even realized was missing—the part that had allowed him to open his heart and fill it with a woman’s gentle love. With Deirdre’s love.
ISBN : 978-1-4592-5798-6
DEDICATED TO DEIRDRE
Copyright © 1999 by Anne Marie Rodgers
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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Dedicated to Deirdre Page 18
