“Keys.” He lowered the umbrella. Water streamed from the furled material and on to the marble floor, pooling beneath their feet, but neither of them noticed.
She fumbled in her bag. The light over the glass double doors gleamed off the crown of her bent head. When she located her keys and looked up at him, that same light revealed shadows beneath her eyes. She dropped the key ring into his outstretched hand.
He ignored the questions in her eyes and reached around her to unlock the door. His body crowded hers until he pulled the heavy door open and stood back to let her enter the lobby ahead of him.
She turned, opening her mouth to speak.
“I’m coming up.”
She stared at him for one silent moment.
“Very well.” She spun on her heel, clearly wide awake now, and walked quickly to the stairwell. She didn’t look back. Jorge was barely a step behind. He knew he was pushing her, but he didn’t care. He was fighting the urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs.
Allison waited until they entered her apartment and the door closed behind them before she spoke. Her nerves were stretched taut. His reaction to her letting slip the word pregnancy in the car had been calm and controlled, but he’d prowled behind her as if he were stalking her after they left the car.
“I’m sure you have questions.” She didn’t look at him, concentrating on slipping out of her coat.
“Several.”
She started, unaware that he’d walked up behind her. He lifted the coat from her nerveless fingers and tossed it over the back of the sofa, plucked her scarf and gloves from her hands and dropped them on to the coat. Then he shrugged out of his own coat and tossed it over the back of the old wooden rocker next to the sofa.
“You look chilled to the bone.”
She wrapped her arms around her midriff and nodded. “I am.” Still nervous, she glanced around her at the living room where seating consisted of a small sofa, one overstuffed chair and the wooden rocker holding his coat. “Why don’t I make us some tea or coffee?”
“Either is fine with me.” He followed her into the small kitchen, catching her elbow and urging her gently into one of the wooden chairs at the small table. “Sit. I’ll make it.” He eyed her critically, lifting a brow in inquiry. “I’m guessing you’d prefer tea?”
“Yes—but I have coffee if you’d rather…”
“No, tea’s fine.”
He picked up the teakettle from the range and held it under the tap, the sound of water rushing into the kettle the only sound in the quiet room. Finished, he returned the kettle to the stove and switched on the burner.
Allison sat, frantically trying to organize her jumbled thoughts, while he opened cabinet doors and took out mugs and tea.
“We’ll get married, of course. As soon as possible. What are you doing this weekend?”
Allison was stunned. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
He turned, leaned his hips against the cabinets behind him, crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her, waiting for a response.
She could only stare at him, caught completely off guard.
A rueful smile lit his eyes.
“I think you’re the first woman I’ve ever actually struck speechless, Allison.”
“I wasn’t expecting…” She paused, helpless. A small ember of hope glowed deep within her. Did he care for her? Had that one magical night they’d spent together meant something important to him, as much as it had to her?
“A baby? Neither was I.” His gaze was enigmatic, hooded. “But you didn’t get pregnant alone, Allison, and I won’t let you face raising a child alone, either. This baby belongs to both of us, needs both of us. And the only practical solution for us to share him, or her, is to marry.”
Allison’s heart fell, his words grinding out the small spark of hope. “I…” She paused, swallowing past the lump of emotion that choked off her words. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
She stared at him, yearning for something more than the calm, reasonable words that spelled out a future dictated by practicality but without the heady joy of love. “I need time to think,” she said, finally. “It never occurred to me that you would consider marriage for the sake of the baby.”
He scowled. “What did you think? That I’m the kind of guy who’d bail and leave you to cope with the consequences?”
“I didn’t know what to think.” She gestured helplessly. “Most men would.”
A muscle ticked along his jawline. “I’m not most men,” he said tightly.
She knew that, she realized with sudden clarity. If he had been like most men, this pregnancy would never have happened. She would never have gone to bed with him that night.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have made assumptions about how you’d react.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” The stern lines of his features eased, softening as he searched her face. “Say yes, Allison. After we marry, we’ll have a lifetime to learn to know each other. No more assumptions.”
Allison’s mind whirled with a thousand questions and worries.
“You don’t have to give me an answer tonight.” Jorge reached behind him and switched off the teakettle. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting in that chair.”
With two long strides, he crossed the tiny kitchen and bent, slipping an arm beneath Allison’s knees and the other around her waist.
He moved so quickly that she barely had time to draw a startled gasp before he swung her up into his arms and left the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” She wasn’t immune to the heat of his body, the strength of his arms that held her, the scent of his aftershave. She wanted to be. But she wasn’t. Memories of the last time he’d held her, without layers of clothing between them, flooded her with Technicolor images.
“Taking you to bed.” He looked down at her, wry amusement underlying the heat in his eyes. “Alone. I’ll tuck you in and leave. You look too tired to give me an answer tonight. I can wait—until tomorrow.”
Before Allison could answer him, he swung her to her feet in the bedroom and left her standing, indecisive, while he switched on the lamp and turned down the bed with quick, efficient movements.
He turned, walked toward her, and the intimacy of the lamplit bedroom sent alarm bells jangling along Allison’s already fraught nerves.
He stopped in front of her, his expression neutral. “I’m going back to the kitchen to warm a mug of milk for you.” She grimaced and he smiled. “When I get back, you’ll have your nightgown on and be ready to drink the milk and go to sleep, agreed?”
“I don’t wear a nightgown. I wear pajamas.”
His smile deepened with affection, warming Allison and soothing her nerves.
“Okay,” he said reasonably. “Then put on your pajamas and get ready for bed.”
He tapped his forefinger gently against the tip of her nose, winked, and left the room.
Allison was exhausted and knew she should be relieved that he wasn’t exerting the full force of his irresistible sexual appeal. But she couldn’t deny that on some level she was annoyed that he was treating her like a five-year-old favorite niece.
Disgruntled, she pulled flannel pajamas from the chest of drawers against the far wall and locked herself into the minuscule bathroom across the even tinier hallway. Face scrubbed, teeth brushed, dressed in oversize blue pajamas patterned with little white flower sprigs, she climbed into bed and tucked the pillows behind her. She barely finished when Jorge returned.
He paused abruptly in the doorway, his gaze running swiftly over her face and the blanket-covered shape of her in the bed. For a moment Allison felt swift heat spin between them, but then his eyes shuttered, banking the flare of sexual awareness. He left the doorway and walked to the bed, handing her a gently steaming mug.
She frowned, first at the warm milk, then at him.
“Think of it as medicine.” He gr
inned at her. “It’s good for the baby and it’s good for you. It’ll help you sleep.”
“I hate warm milk,” she commented, sipping.
“Can’t say that I blame you.” He leaned over the bed, tucking the blanket closer against her waist. Then he planted the flat of his palms against the blankets on either side of her and looked at her. Their faces were barely a foot apart.
He had the most beautiful eyes. Allison stared at him, drinking in the male beauty in the angles and planes of cheekbones, jaw, the curve of his ear and eyebrows, and the absurdly thick sweep of black eyelashes surrounding dark-chocolate eyes. The lamplight gleamed, highlighting the golden sheen of his skin. Allison badly wanted to lean forward and bury her face against the warm curve of his throat, but she gripped the mug until her fingers ached and forced herself to remain where she was.
“Promise me you’ll finish the milk?” His voice was a deep murmur, rumbling softly in the quiet, dimly lit room.
“I’ll finish the milk,” she said with solemn politeness. “But I won’t like it.”
His lips quirked in a heartstopping smile, the long sweep of his lashes half concealing the gleam of amusement in his eyes.
“Okay. You don’t have to like it, just as long as you finish it and it helps you to sleep.”
Allison eyed him wryly. “I didn’t have any difficulty falling asleep earlier tonight, what makes you think I’ll need help?”
“Good point.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then lifted slowly to meet hers once again.
Allison caught her breath at the heat in his eyes, visible for only a moment before his lashes lowered, hiding his expression from her.
Abruptly he shoved upright, standing beside her bed. “I’ll pick you up for lunch tomorrow. I hope you’ll have an answer for me by then.”
“That’s not very long to think about getting engaged.”
“Not engaged. Married. And I wish I could give you longer, but we’ve waited long enough as it is. I want your name changed before the baby gets here.”
“I can’t promise you that I’ll have an answer for you by tomorrow,” she said stubbornly.
“All right. Promise me that you’ll consider it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He bent over the bed, the warm brush of his lips against her brow, chaste though the kiss was, was somehow comforting. “I’ll pick you up at your office tomorrow at noon for lunch.”
He turned at the door and glanced back at her. “Good night, Allison.”
“Good night,” she whispered.
Allison sat motionless, listening to the sound of his footsteps as he crossed the living room, the click of the dead bolt being released, the snick of the door opening and closing, then silence.
He wanted to get married. But only because he wanted the baby.
She forced herself to sip the still-warm milk.
She fiercely wanted this baby, and she knew that she would find a way to do whatever was necessary to care for her child, but there was no question that the joy and worry of raising him or her would be infinitely easier if she could share the experience with the baby’s father.
She was still stunned that he wanted to be an involved father.
She didn’t have to marry, she reminded herself. She could always ask her parents for financial help should she ever need it.
She rejected the idea as soon as it occurred. She knew she couldn’t bring herself to actively involve her parents in her child’s life. The high-powered couple were likely to take over and try to control both her and her baby’s life. Allison knew she didn’t want her baby to endure the fishbowl life her parents loved and that she herself had struggled with as a child. She was determined to shelter her little one against the stress and demands of fame.
Can I marry Jorge, knowing that he doesn’t love me? But I don’t love him, either, she thought. How could she? She hardly knew him beyond the fact that he was an amazing lover. Surely loving someone took longer than one magical, passion-filled night? A part of her scoffed at the analysis, but she determinedly ignored the small voice.
And then, she thought, there’s the question of my job. She wasn’t quite ready to tell Eloise about her pregnancy, especially since her boss had been grumbling lightly about one of the nurses being pregnant and the need to plan for a replacement during her maternity leave.
She finished her milk and set the empty mug on the nightstand. Sighing, she pushed her fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ears before she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.
So many things to consider, she thought. And she couldn’t allow her feelings alone to make her decision. Didn’t Jorge deserve to be a full-time father to their child? Didn’t the baby deserve to have his or her father as a constant presence in their life?
She had no idea how living with Jorge as man and wife would work out. In fact, she couldn’t even conceive of the concept without getting huge butterflies in her stomach. But she knew that she owed it to both of them, and to their unborn child, to consider the prospect.
The butterflies fluttered and she pressed a hand to her still-flat tummy.
He scares me to death, she acknowledged. She suspected that she could easily fall in love with him, and if she did, would he break her heart if he didn’t love her back?
Her stomach roiled. It was unlike her to be so indecisive. She was frightened of her feelings for Jorge and the possibility that they might grow stronger. She was equally terrified by the changes she felt in her body and the knowledge that the baby’s impact on her body would soon escalate.
Frustrated by her inability to focus and arrive at a clear, considered decision, Allison turned out the lamp and pulled the blankets up to her chin. Determinedly she closed her eyes and began to recite the lyrics to her favorite Bob Dylan song, while she purposely drew slow, controlled, rhythmic breaths.
She was so exhausted that she didn’t complete the second verse after the bridge before she was fast asleep.
Jorge drove home in a state of elation edged with worry. His first instinct had been to carry Allison off to bed and keep her there until she agreed to marry him. The sexual attraction that pulsed between them on that long-ago night was still there, as strong as ever. But he’d purposely banked the heat between them because her amber eyes held a fear and wariness that he didn’t understand. Until he knew why she was so wary, he couldn’t chance giving her cause to refuse him. Until she wore his ring on her finger, had given her promise in front of a justice of the peace and he legally owned the right to claim her, he’d do his damnedest to keep his hormones in check. Until he learned why she was afraid, he would try to be patient.
And patience wasn’t something he was good at, he reflected. Not when it came to wanting Allison Baker.
Chapter Four
The following morning dawned bright and clear, the rainstorm blowing itself out during the night and giving way to crisp air, cold temperature and blue skies. The radio alarm woke Allison at her usual early hour, and after a full night’s sleep she was relieved to discover that the morning brought clearer insight.
She was still afraid that marrying Jorge would endanger her heart, but she was convinced that marriage was the best thing for their child.
Tossing back the blankets, she left the bed to shower and dress for the day. Two hours later she was at her desk, absorbed in compiling statistics for Eloise’s latest project. She purposely turned off the automatic clock on her computer and removed her watch, tucking it into her purse. If she didn’t, she was sure that she’d spend all morning agonizing over her approaching lunch date with Jorge.
Fortunately for her state of mind, her plan worked. After several false starts, she lost track of time until Leah interrupted her several hours later.
“Allison?”
She looked up. “Hi, Leah, what is it?”
“That gorgeous guy is back again. He says you’re expecting him?”
Allison’s heart jumped, but she manage
d to nod calmly. “Yes, we have a lunch date. Would you tell him that I’ll be right out?”
“Sure.”
Leah disappeared and Allison opened her bottom desk drawer, took out her purse and found her lipstick case. The little mirror reflected a calm, cool exterior that revealed none of the nervousness that had little butterflies fluttering their wings in her midsection. Reassured, she slicked pink color over her lips, ran a brush through already neat hair, slipped into her coat and left her office.
When she walked into the reception area, she found Jorge across the room, his back to her, studying an original watercolor painted by one of the clinic’s clients.
Her heart did the fast, trip-hammer beat that she was growing accustomed to feeling every time she saw him. Determined to ignore it, she pinned a smile on her face and walked toward him.
“Hello, Jorge.”
He looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers, and her heart stuttered, then thudded heavily in response to his heavy-lidded, swift appraisal.
“Hello, Allison.” His gaze flicked over her coat and purse. “Ready to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He took her elbow and ushered her out of the office. Even through the layers of coats that separated them, Allison’s rebellious body reacted with heat and a tingling awareness that radiated from the loose clasp of his hand on her arm.
The restaurant he chose for their lunch was only a short block from her office, the furnishings elegant, the wine list exclusive, the privacy optimal.
“Do you eat here often?” she asked, glancing around the softly lit room with its huge potted palms discreetly screening tables.
“On occasion.” Jorge’s gaze followed hers, then returned to her menu, forgotten on the table in front of her. “Have you decided?”
“Oh, no, I haven’t.” She scanned the entrées and looked up at him. “Do you have a favorite? Can you suggest something?”
“Would you like me to order for you?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” Allison didn’t really care what he ordered because she doubted that she’d be able to taste the food. She was far too tense to care, although the growing baby inside her required that she eat at regular intervals.
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