The Baby Came C.O.D.

by Marie Ferrarella

  And yet here he was.

  Something warm and hopeful began to bloom within her.

  This was going to be the first holiday meal he'd miss sharing with his family, but he'd made his choice and fig¬ured he knew where he belonged. "They all have each other. I thought someone should stay and take care of the girls and you."

  The girls and you. It had such a lovely sound to it, Claire mused. With very little effort, she could get really involved with this man. Who was she kidding? She was already in¬volved with this man.

  But he didn't have to know that.

  She bit her lip. It was only fair she make the offer, even if she hoped he wouldn't take her up on it. "You don't have to. I mean, I feel better now and I could look after Rachel if you wanted to get away."

  He didn't remember taking her into his arms, only re¬membered wanting to. But here she was, against him. As she should be.

  "Maybe I don't want to get away." He brushed the hair away from her face.

  Her bangs always seemed to be falling into her eyes, he thought. It gave her an elfin quality that belied the strength that was beneath and allowed him to pretend that she needed someone. Needed him.

  "Maybe I'm just where I want to be. Here, getting my fingers burned, making really bad mashed potatoes and looking into the eyes of the most incredible woman I've ever met."

  He wasn't going anywhere. She felt her heart surge. "Maybe the fever burned out more of your brain cells than anticipated."

  Evan shook his head. There was nothing wrong with his thinking process. Finally, there was something very right about it.

  "No, it just burned away the plastic casing that blocked anything good from coming in."

  Leaning into him, Claire lifted her chin, an invitation in her eyes. "I'm not catchy anymore." Then she realized that he probably didn't know what she was saying. "That's Libby-talk for—"

  "I know what it means." He feathered his hand along her cheek. Her skin felt like cream. And she felt like heaven against him. "She used the line on me. Does that mean I can kiss you?"

  The heart that had been hammering so wildly just a sec¬ond before stopped altogether. "That's what it means. Are you going to?"

  The smile was slow as it moved along his lips, and so wildly sensual, Claire couldn't breathe. "I'm thinking about it."

  If Evan didn't kiss her soon, she was going to have to force herself on him. "Don't make me get nasty with you."

  The smile became a grin and all the more sexy for it. "I love it when you get physical."

  And then Evan brought his lips down to hers and kissed her the way he couldn't for the past few days. The way he'd ached to.

  The wait had made the reward all the more sweet. As soon as he kissed her, he could feel his blood surging through his body, hot and demanding. This was the woman he wanted in his life. The woman who was going to matter. Who already did matter.

  Desire coiled like a spring that had been set, eager for release. The degree of intensity surprised him. Physical at¬traction had always been a pleasurable thing, but it had always been something he could walk away from if he chose. Now there was no choice. He couldn't have crawled away on his knees if he wanted to.

  He wanted to be with her, to love her the way he knew she needed to be loved. The way he needed to make love with her.

  Clamping down restraints before they completely disin¬tegrated, he drew back from her. "Nothing wrong with your lips, that's for sure."

  "Is Mama all better?"

  The high-pitched, inquisitive voice parted them more ef¬fectively than his resolve did. Evan smiled as he looked toward her. Libby was standing at the landing, eyeing them both and looking as pleased as he felt.

  "All better, Libby," Claire murmured, wondering how long it would take for her pulse to settle down to normal.

  It was all Libby needed to hear. She hurried over to her mother, linking her small fingers through Claire's and tug¬ging her toward the stairs. "Then you can come and help." Libby stood up on her toes and whispered, "Evan's making the potatoes all lumpy."

  Claire didn't want close proximity to annul the good manners she'd worked hard to instill in Libby. "Honey, his name is Mr. Quartermain."

  "He told me I could call him Evan because if I don't, he'll be a man from outer space." She looked up at Evan for confirmation, but he was laughing too hard to provide it.

  Claire was left to wonder just what had gone on while she had been sick. "I'm sure there's a translation to this," she told Evan. At least she hoped so. "Why don't you explain it all to me while I'm unlumping your potatoes?"

  He put his hand on hers as she began to go down the stairs. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

  Claire stopped and smiled at him. His concern was touching and almost worth getting sick as a dog for. "I told you, I'm fine." Her tongue moved along the outline of her lips, tasting him again. She felt the shiver of a thrill dance down her spine. "And ridiculously giddy, considering I'm out of work."

  Evan stared at her. Had he missed something? "How do you figure that?"

  She really didn't want to talk about it now, even though she'd been the one to bring it up. Today was too perfect to spoil.

  Turning, she walked down the stairs with Libby leading the way. She didn't want him to read the disappointment in her eyes.

  "Well, I lost the Aesthetics account, and I don't have anything else on tap right now." She shrugged. "But something'll come up." Claire maintained a cheerful voice for Libby's sake. And her own. "It always does."

  He still didn't understand. "How did you manage to lose the Aesthetics account? They just gave it to you two days ago."

  It was her turn to stare at him. It took concentration to keep her mouth from falling open. "They just...? When?"

  There was a definite glitch in communication here, Evan thought. Maybe she didn't know. He'd been surprised she hadn't said anything to him about it, but thought it was because she was low-key when it came to success. Unlike him.

  "The day I went to make your presentation. I told you when I came back that you had it."

  She had it. She had the account. Her eyes grew huge. He wasn't kidding. Claire was stunned and too happy and relieved for words. "Then it's true? I wasn't just dream¬ing?"

  He laughed, shaking his head. That was why she hadn't said anything. She didn't know. "No. They were very im¬pressed with your work."

  Evan didn't bother telling her that he had gone to school with the head of the Aesthetic Athletics marketing depart¬ment and had wangled a one-on-one meeting to make sure that Claire's work got the priority consideration it deserved. Telling her would only take away some of her thunder, and she deserved all of it.

  Besides, he was being sufficiently compensated. He loved watching the way her eyes lit up.

  "I've got a check for you they drew up on the spot to make sure that you wouldn't take this logo to another com¬pany. Formal contracts will be in the mail the first of the week," he informed her. "You're to consider yourself part of their staff from here on in—for as long as you want," he added, knowing how much freedom meant to her.

  When Evan's words finally sank in, Claire let out a whoop of joy and impulsively threw her arms around him. "Really?"

  His arms encircled her automatically. "Really." He liked holding her like this, feeling her heart beat against his. Funny how important the simple things in life could be, now that she was in it.

  There was something he wanted to know, a question her words had raised. Still holding her, he cupped her cheek softly and asked, "When you said you thought it was just a dream—does that mean you dream about me?"

  A smile teased her lips, slipping up to her eyes. "Maybe."

  It was hard to imagine a thirty-year-old man's stomach tightening over something so tenuous as a maybe. But it did. "Often?"

  Very smoothly, she disentangled herself from him, the same smile playing on her lips. "Don't sap my strength with interrogations, Mr. Quartermain—I have potatoes to rescue."

&nbs
p; Claire walked into the kitchen and saw that Rachel was sitting in her high chair, happily making a mess of what had been breakfast. She was smearing squashed bananas and what looked to be strained peaches all along the for¬merly white tray.

  "Looks like someone's getting creative," Claire noted.

  He picked up a towel and began wiping the sticky fin¬gers, wondering if he was fast enough to keep Rachel from making them messy again before he could clean up the tray.

  "My sister Paige loves to paint. Maybe she gets it from her." There was an odd expression on Claire's face as she looked at him. "What?"

  Claire grabbed a paper towel and did the honors on the tray. She had no idea why her throat felt as if it was tight¬ening. This was a happy moment, not a sad one. "That's the first time I've heard you actually refer to Rachel as being yours."

  He didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Except that it was. She was. If not for Claire, Rachel would have been the single biggest deal of his life, Evan realized.

  "Yeah, well, I've decided this is probably on the level." He tossed the streaked towel on the counter. "If it was some kind of a hoax, then Rachel's mother would be asking for money instead of abandoning her. Besides," he added, looking down at the round little face, "Rachel does look a lot like my sisters did when they were her age."

  "You remember?" Claire pulled a second paper towel off the rack and moistened it. "You're a lot more sensitive than I gave you credit for."

  He debated letting her think that, but he had always be¬lieved that honesty was the only cornerstone to use in lay¬ing a foundation, and this foundation was too important to jeopardize for the sake of ego points.

  "Not to shatter my new image, but my mother likes to drag out family albums on any pretext at any time. I've seen pictures of my sisters when they were around Rachel's age countless times. She has their eyes. Green and beauti¬ful."

  "She has your eyes," Claire corrected.

  He shrugged self-consciously as he gave Rachel the ring of keys she loved to play with. "Men don't have beautiful eyes."

  She'd embarrassed him, Claire thought. Now, why was that so hopelessly endearing? "You do. It was my first hint that you were human after all."

  She'd piqued his interest. He liked the way the conver¬sation was going. "What was your second?"

  Instead of answering, she cast a sidelong glance at her daughter, busy solemnly stirring what would eventually be a pie filling. Her meaning was clear. She couldn't talk in front of Libby.

  This was becoming more encouraging by the minute. He could wait.

  "Okay, on to other things," Evan announced. Producing a grocery bag he hadn't emptied out yet, he deposited the contents onto the only space on the table that didn't have a bowl or a box or some ingredient for the feast occupying it. Yams came tumbling out. Two broke in half on contact. Evan wondered if that was bad. "What do we do with these things to make them edible?"

  Claire reached for another towel and tucked it around her waist like an apron. "Looks like I got well just in time."

  "This had to be the nicest Thanksgiving I can remember in a long, long time."

  Claire's words came out on a contented sigh. She was sitting curled up beside Evan on the sofa in the family room, watching flames dancing around a log in the fire¬place.

  The dinner had long since been consumed, the dishes washed and put away at her insistence. They had all fussed over Rachel, and then Evan had played with Libby while Claire put the baby to bed. By the time she'd come out again, she found that Evan had accomplished the impossi¬ble. He had actually exhausted Libby. She had crawled up beside them on the sofa, wanting to stay up "just a little longer." And had promptly fallen asleep five minutes after permission was granted.

  The baby was sleeping; Libby lay with her head on Claire's lap. Claire's hand lingered protectively on Libby's shoulder, her own head leaning against Evan's. If this wasn't happiness, then she didn't know what was.

  "Yeah, it was pretty nice, wasn't it?" Evan lazily stroked her arm. He couldn't remember ever feeling this sort of peace, and yet, it was held together with thin wires of excitement. Excitement generated by the same woman who filled him with this sense of peace.

  It was far too complicated for him to try to unravel. Besides, he was unraveling pretty well himself right now. And finding a whole new person underneath.

  Claire felt a little guilty that her happiness meant some¬one else's disappointment. "Think your family minds that you're here this year?"

  Evan laughed to himself, hearing again what his mother had to say when he'd called to apologize. The offense ranked only a little below the start of World War II.

  "My mother'll make me pay," he said, pausing to kiss her temple, "until she sees you."

  Claire drew her head back to look at him. "Me? What do I have to do with it?"

  How could she not know? "Everything." He'd intended on waiting for a more opportune moment, then decided that his whole life had been spent waiting and he didn't want to do that anymore.

  "I want you to meet them. My family. I know they'll want to meet you and Libby." He grinned as he glanced at the sleeping child. She looked so deceptively calm this way. A dynamite stick in repose. "My mother has been after all four of us kids to get married and give her grand¬children. I thought I might give her a preview."

  Not everyone was up to Libby's exuberance. "To make her eat her words?" Claire guessed.

  Not if he knew his mother. After all, she'd raised the four of them, and they had never been a tranquil bunch. "She'll fall in love with Libby once she stops to catch her breath."

  She raised her head again, almost afraid to guess at what he Was saying. "Why should she fall in love with Libby?"

  He traced her lips with his thumb, watching the way her eyes grew dark with desire. It was a sight, he knew, he was never going to tire of. "I thought that was obvious."

  Something caught; in her throat. Anticipation? Her heart? All she knew was that she couldn't swallow. "Sometimes," she said in a whisper, afraid her voice would break if she spoke any louder, "the most obvious things are missed and overlooked. Why don't you explain it to me?"

  He wished he had Devin's gift. Devin was never at a loss as to what to say. "I'm not good with words, Claire, unless I'm putting them down in a report or a memo."

  He wasn't going to get out of telling her that easily. "Okay, I can accept that. Write me a memo."

  "What?"

  "Write me a memo," she repeated. "Here, I'll start it for you." Claire pretended to write in the air. "'Claire!'" She looked at him. "Okay, you take it from there."

  Amusement lifted the corners of his mouth. "What's the memo supposed to be about?"

  She sighed. This might be more difficult than she antici¬pated. "Why you want to take us to meet your family. And why your mother is going to fall in love with Libby."

  He settled back, draping his arm over her shoulder. "Well, my mother'll fall in love with Libby because you can't help falling in love with Libby."

  "Did you?" she pressed.

  It was his turn to tease her, and he rather enjoyed doing it. "Maybe."

  "I'll take that as a yes," she decided. "Now, the first part." Turning, her face was a scant inch away from his. That would account for why her heart was beating so fast. "Why should we meet your family?"

  Evan played out his line. "Because they're nice people."

  "Okay," she allowed. "And why should they meet us? And if you say because we're nice people," she warned him, "I may be forced to hit you."

  He could just picture that. "My, have you always had this violent streak?"

  "Only with very stubborn men."

  Evan nodded. "I'll have to remember that. They should meet you because, other than being very nice people," he said, grinning, "you've also become important to me."

  It was like pulling teeth, but she wasn't about to stop now. "Important how? Important like a nanny or a house¬keeper?"

  He knew what she was after and he was enjo
ying him¬self. "A little more than that."

  Claire raised her chin, her eyes narrowing. "How little?"

  Evan flicked his finger down her nose. Damn, but she stirred him. And she had a right to know it. "All right, a lot more. Satisfied?"

  "No," she sighed, "but we're getting there."

  The smile on his lips grew serious. "Come up to my room and we'll see what we can do about the 'satisfied' part. We're both finally well enough to stay in the same bed at the same time." He couldn't begin to count how many times he'd thought about that in the past week.

  Claire looked down at Libby, nestled so peacefully on her lap. "Evan..."

  He could read her thoughts. "You're afraid she'll wake up and find us together?"

  Maybe that sounded old-fashioned, but that was the way she wanted to raise Libby. With a good sense of values firmly entrenched. "Yes."

  He pretended to consider that. "She might have to get used to it."

  She didn't want to hurt him or spoil this. Any of it. But he had to understand her position—as difficult as it was for her to take. As much as she knew she loved him, she was still Libby's mother, and with that came a responsibility that had to take precedence over her heart.

  "Evan, it's not that I don't want to. I do. For the first time in years, I really do, but Libby's too young to under¬stand about the way it is between men and women." And it was up to her to protect Libby for as long as she could.

  "Oh, I don't know about that." Lightly, he ran his hand over Libby's hair. It felt as silky as Claire's. "She's pretty savvy, and most kids understand that their parents sleep in the same bed."

  "Parents?" Claire echoed dumbly. What did that have to do with what they were discussing?

  She really didn't know, did she? He'd never met a woman as unassuming as Claire. "Yeah, you know, mother, father." He pointed to her, then jerked his thumb back to himself. "You, me."

  Claire held up her hand. This was going way too fast for her to assimilate. "Hold it, hold it, what are you saying?"

  Evan shrugged. "I told you I wasn't any good at talk¬ing." He gave it to her straight. "I'm asking you to marry me."

  She knew how she felt about him, but she hadn't thought that he actually reciprocated these feelings. "When did this happen?"