Practice Makes Pregnant

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “Hmm.” She sighed. “I’ll have to work on it some more. I was really hoping to send it off this afternoon.”

  “Would you like me to take this copy back to my office and do some editing, perhaps come up with some possible rewording of the paragraphs?”

  “Thanks, Allison, that would be very helpful.”

  Allison smiled at the look of relief Eloise gave her. She stood, placing the file containing the security contracts on top of the in-box on the corner of the desk. “I’ll take this copy with me—and here are the contracts for the installation of the additional alarms. I’ve paper-clipped the pages that need your signature.”

  “Thanks, Allison, you’re a treasure.”

  “No problem. I’ll e-mail you with input on the letter.”

  “Great!”

  As Allison left the office, Eloise was already refocused on her computer screen, muttering to herself as she typed.

  While Eloise was revising her passionate letter to the editor, across town in the mayor’s office, Bill Harper sat alone, staring at a photograph of Eloise. His office was usually chaotic, but a meeting had been canceled at the last minute and in a rare, private moment he had time to close his door, ask his secretary to hold his calls and draw a deep breath. He couldn’t help but regret so much about his shared past with Eloise. Their current situation had put them at loggerheads over his need to balance the city’s budget and her need for funding of her beloved business.

  I wonder if we’ll ever be friends again.

  He stroked his fingertips over the cool glass separating him from the colored photo. She was as beautiful now as she’d been when he’d first fallen in love with her all those years ago, when they were so young. She’d married another man, but he’d never stopped loving her.

  The intercom buzzed, demanding his attention.

  Bill sighed, returned the framed photo to its place among the collection on the bookcase near his desk and picked up the phone. His few moments of quiet were over.

  If Allison could have seen the mayor as he gazed at the photo of her boss, she would have known instantly that her boss had lied to her. The connection between Mayor Harper and Eloise Vale clearly was deeply personal.

  Chapter Three

  Allison glanced at the small clock on the stove and blinked.

  “Midnight already?” She smothered a yawn as she pushed back her chair and stood to stretch. Bracing her hands against the ache at the small of her back, she arched, twisting right, then left, in an attempt to relieve stiff muscles.

  Her prepregnancy habit of going straight from the office to study at the law library on the week-nights that she didn’t have class was no longer possible. Instead, she’d taken to coming straight home for a nap and setting her alarm to wake her at 9:00 p.m. Tonight she’d staggered out of bed at nine and microwaved a container of leftover pasta for dinner, eating the meal while jotting down notes for a class on criminal law later in the week. The weariness that dragged at her during the day wouldn’t be held off for long, however, and now, three hours later, she was thoroughly exhausted.

  She closed her books and left the kitchen for the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, washed her face, combed out her hair and pulled on loose flannel pajamas. She turned sideways to view her profile in the mirror and smoothed the flannel snugly over her midriff.

  Still no little bump. But she knew that her baby wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

  Her baby. The words still stunned her. And she was no closer to making the necessary big decisions.

  Some things she knew without question. She knew that she was fiercely determined to raise her child in the best circumstances possible. Although the effort was exhausting her, she was determined to continue taking classes to earn her law degree. She knew she needed a better income to support her baby than her current salary at Manhattan Multiples.

  But she still struggled to come to grips with the impact the little one would inevitably have on her life. And ever since Jorge’s visit to her office, she’d wrestled with the question of telling him about the child they’d created. Should she tell him? Could she? Surely he had the right to know, but would he care?

  The unanswered questions kept her awake at night, adding to her weariness.

  By five o’clock the following evening, Allison was worn-out. When she left the office, the evening held the chill of fall, the sky overcast and threatening rain. Shivering, she huddled deeper into her coat, pulling the collar up under her chin, and ducked her head against the sting of the wind. Much as she longed to hurry home to the warmth of her apartment, she resolutely made her way to the campus lecture hall for her night class. She took a seat in a nearly empty row near the back of the tier of auditorium chairs and warmed her hands by cradling a hot cup of herbal tea. The kiosk outside the quad was doing a brisk business in the cold evening, and fortunately for Allison’s cold face and hands, the owners delivered fast service.

  “Excuse me.”

  Allison looked over her shoulder, then half turned when she recognized a woman she’d seen in several other classes.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi. Do you know who’s lecturing tonight? I heard that the scheduled speaker had a conflicting engagement and we’re getting a sub.”

  “I haven’t a clue,” Allison admitted. “To be honest, I’d totally forgotten that Professor Smythe was out of town this week.”

  “Well, whoever it is, I hope they’re better than the last sub we had.”

  Allison nodded, a wry grin curving her mouth. “If they’re not, I’m out of here.”

  “Me, too.” The other woman nodded emphatically. Her gaze moved past Allison and her eyes widened. “Whoa, things are looking up.”

  Curious, Allison turned to look at the lecture floor below. A tall, broad-shouldered man had his back to them as he shrugged out of his overcoat and tossed it over one end of the heavy oak library table that served as a desk.

  He looked familiar. Allison frowned. Too familiar. Glossy, short black hair gleamed under the overhead lights, his gray wool suit coat tailored to fit perfectly across the wide span of his shoulders.

  It can’t be. Allison stared intently, willing the man to turn around.

  When he did, she gasped. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them wide. Jorge Perez was still there, opening a leather briefcase and removing a sheaf of notes, glancing around the small hall at the theater seats that were swiftly filling with students.

  What was he doing here? She instinctively sank lower in her seat to avoid being seen. Unfortunately, the two seats in front of her were empty, and when she shifted, Jorge’s gaze zeroed in on the movement. She froze. She couldn’t tell from this distance, but she thought his gaze sharpened for a moment before it moved on.

  A surge of heat drove away all the remaining impact of the chilly night outside. Allison felt her fingers tingle. Her throat and cheeks grew warmer, and she tensed, glancing about her for fear that her intense reaction to Jorge was visible. But none of her classmates were paying any attention to her. All of the women were much too busy ogling Jorge while the men appeared preoccupied with studying.

  “Nice substitute,” the woman seated behind Allison leaned forward to whisper. “I don’t think I care if he’s a good speaker. Just looking at him for two hours is enough.”

  Allison managed a weak chuckle and nodded as if in agreement.

  Three women moved down the aisle and took the seats next to Allison.

  “Hey,” the one nearest to Allison murmured to her companions, “Check out the professor.”

  “Nice,” one commented while the other heaved a theatrical sigh and fanned herself.

  “Better than nice. Hot, very hot.”

  “Who is he? And I wonder if he’s married?”

  “Who cares?” The woman seated next to Allison laughed. “Being married just means that he isn’t available. It doesn’t mean that we can’t window-shop.”

  Allison gritted her teeth and bit back a scathing comment. She fou
nd their remarks seriously annoying, and for a reckless moment, considered telling them so.

  Oh, no. She nearly groaned out loud. The sudden knowledge that her annoyance was fueled by jealousy hit her like a blow.

  I don’t want to feel this. One night in his bed doesn’t mean I have a reason to resent other women who find him attractive. He isn’t mine.

  Unfortunately, knowing that Jorge wasn’t connected to her by either affection, promises, or wedding vows didn’t stop her from becoming irritated by the other women. She bit her tongue to keep from responding a half-dozen times before Jorge called the class to order and their comments ceased.

  In the next hour and a half, Allison took notes almost nonstop. If the female students had first noticed Jorge’s handsome face and body, they quickly learned that an incisive mind and formidable intelligence made him far more than a pretty face.

  He rarely consulted his notes, pacing back and forth as he lectured, his gaze moving over the audience for the occasional raised hand. He answered each question concisely, ensuring that the student understood his response before he moved on. He didn’t however, acknowledge Allison by so much as a smile or the slightest alteration of his expression when his dark gaze moved over her. His glance was impersonal and so lacking in recognition that she felt rebuffed.

  By the time he completed his lecture and called for questions, Allison was exhausted. She dropped her pen on top of her notebook, flexing her fingers in an effort to ease the tired muscles as she listened to students’ questions and Jorge’s responses. After a few moments of hearing him explain points of constitutional law that she felt he’d already thoroughly explored in the lecture, she stifled a yawn. The intense concentration she’d focused on Jorge’s lecture had dissipated, leaving her feeling even more tired than usual.

  Her eyelids felt as if they were weighted with stones. She hid another yawn, realized that she was nodding, and purposely opened her eyes wide. Within seconds she yawned again, her eyes half-closed. She glanced at her watch, considering stealthily leaving the lecture hall, but just then Jorge looked directly at her. She stiffened, but his gaze hesitated only a moment before it moved on.

  She pushed back her cuff and looked at her watch again.

  Only twenty more minutes. Surely I can stay awake for another twenty minutes.

  She pulled her coat around her shoulders and forced herself to focus on the intense student in the third row and his question regarding the constitutionality of the Miranda ruling.

  “Allison. Allison?”

  “Mmm?” Someone was calling her name. Allison came awake slowly. It took an amazing effort to lift her heavy lashes and focus.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jorge bent over her, frowning, his hand on her arm. Allison realized that it was his voice and the gentle shake he’d given her shoulder that had wakened her. Disoriented, she looked away from him and realized that the lecture hall was empty except for the two of them.

  Startled, she sat upright, making a quick grab for and missing the notebook and pen that immediately slid off her lap and on to the floor.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Jorge’s dark gaze scanned her face before he bent to pick up her pen and notebook. “Class is over, everyone’s gone.”

  “I fell asleep.” She was much too drowsy, total wakefulness a goal she couldn’t reach. She knew she shouldn’t encourage Jorge to talk with her for fear that she might accidentally make a comment that would lead him to suspect her pregnancy, but her defenses were lowered by exhaustion and the same warm sense of connection flowing between them that she’d felt that night on the terrace.

  Jorge smiled, his gaze warming. “Yes, I think you did. Was my lecture that boring?”

  He handed her the notebook and pen and she turned away from him, tucking them into her bag on the adjoining seat.

  “Thank you. And no, the lecture was very good. I’m just really tired tonight, didn’t get enough sleep last night.” She drew a deep breath, fumbling with her coat and avoiding meeting his eyes. “I’d better go.” She gathered her bag, scarf and gloves.

  Jorge stepped back into the aisle, taking her arm as she rose, then releasing her as she moved past him and started up the aisle to the exit doors.

  He reached around her, his much larger body bracketing hers for a brief, heartstopping moment as he turned the latch and shoved open the door. He stood so close that his scent assailed her senses, evoking vivid memories of the night they spent together. The urge to lean forward and bury her face against the strong pulse at his throat to breathe in the smell that was uniquely Jorge was so strong that Allison panicked and jerked quickly away from him, stumbling out into the night. The wind, driving rain before it, swept beneath the roof overhang, catching her breath and chilling her to the bone.

  “You’re shivering.” Jorge raised an umbrella and held it over her, protecting her from the cold rain while his body blocked the wind. “Which way is your car?”

  “I don’t have a car. I’ll catch a taxi at the corner.” Allison gestured toward the far end of the block of brick buildings where the street glistened with rain beneath the streetlamps. There wasn’t a taxi in sight, she realized with dismay.

  Jorge slipped an arm around her shoulders, tucked her close, and, holding the umbrella over them both, walked toward the parking garage. Allison was so tired that she didn’t protest when he halted by a forest green Jaguar. He thumbed the control on his key ring, and the car beeped gently, headlights flashing once, twice, in response.

  “What are you doing?”

  He pulled open the passenger door. “I’m taking you home.” He paused, his arm still around her shoulders. “Are you going to argue with me, or are you going to be reasonable?”

  Allison knew she should refuse his offer. The more time she spent in his company, the greater the chance that she might accidentally let something slip about her pregnancy. But she was so tired. She glanced outside the garage to the street corner, empty of taxis, and shivered at a gust of cold, wet wind.

  “No, I’m not going to argue with you.”

  “Good.” His voice rang with satisfaction.

  Jorge helped her into the car, waiting until she was settled before closing the door. The comfortable interior smelled of leather and the brand of men’s cologne Allison associated with him. Within seconds he was sliding beneath the wheel, the door shutting with a solid thunk and closing the two of them in together, safely out of the forbidding weather. He twisted the ignition key, and the engine came to life with a throaty purr.

  “We’ll have warm air in a second,” he commented. He half turned in his seat to reach her seat belt, his chest and arms pressing against hers for one breath-stealing moment until his fingers found the belt. He pulled it forward and across her breasts and midriff, his bent head inches from hers, and slotted the buckle into the latch. Then he looked up, his face too close to hers, his eyes enigmatic.

  For a moment Allison felt surrounded by him, and she longed to touch him. But then he moved back, breaking the spell. She felt bereft, her body having been denied the contact it craved.

  He slipped his own seat belt into place, shifted the car into gear, glanced over his shoulder and pulled smoothly out into the sparse traffic. His gaze flicked over her, and he pushed a button on the dash. Warm air poured out of the vents, heating her cold feet, legs and body.

  She sighed in appreciation.

  “Better?”

  “Much.”

  He turned on the radio, soft Latin music filling the comfortable interior. A great wave of weariness washed over Allison, and she rested her head against the soft leather seat, eyes half-closed as she watched the familiar streets slip by. The rain drummed a soft tattoo on the roof of the car, and she dozed, lulled by the music of radio and rain.

  “Hey, are you falling asleep on me again?” Jorge’s voice was half teasing, half concerned. “Are you feeling well? Should I get a doctor?”

  Allison smiled sleepily, snuggling d
eeper into the comfortable soft leather seat. “No, and no. I’m perfectly fine. The books say it’s normal to be tired during the first trimester. Exhaustion is just part of being a little bit pregnant.”

  The moment the word pregnant left her lips, Allison realized, too late, what she had done. The silence in the car was electric, tension vibrating, destroying the peaceful atmosphere that had existed only moments before. She stiffened, bracing herself for rejection, and opened her eyes. Jorge’s profile was etched against the dark night outside by the soft dashlights inside. Faint though the light was, she could see the taut line of his jaw, lips, nose and brow as he stared at the road ahead.

  Jorge was stunned, swamped by a mix of powerful emotions. Joy that he was going to be a father and a fierce desire to claim the fragile redhead fought with anger. Not only had she omitted telling him that she was pregnant with his baby, but she seemed determined to keep him out of her life.

  “You’re a little bit pregnant?” The words were even, careful, barely a question.

  “Yes.”

  The whispered confirmation sent a shaft of fierce exultation through him. He glanced at her. Her face was turned toward him, her amber eyes wide, shadowed with worry.

  “And it’s mine.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of claim. He read the knowledge in her eyes.

  He turned his attention back to driving. The following long silence stretched Allison’s nerves. Then he swung his car to the curb, expertly wedging it into a narrow parking space.

  Allison looked up at the facade of her apartment building, a faint frown of confusion veeing her brows. “How did you know where I live?”

  He glanced at her and switched off the engine. “I looked up your address.”

  He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he shoved open the driver’s door and left the car, rounding the hood to open her door and snap open the umbrella. She stepped out on to the curb and he slammed the door, thumbing the lock control as he reached for her bag and took her arm, walking with her up the steps of her building and into the foyer.