Think About Love

by Vanessa Grant

  "I'll get the bedroom door," he murmured, his own heart hammering so loudly that he was amazed she couldn't hear it as he walked with her through the arch and down the hall into the back of the house.

  In the bedroom, he pulled back the small blanket in the crib. She bent and gently placed the baby on the mattress. Cal lowered the blanket over the baby, and Sam's hand adjusted the edge over the infant's small shoulder, her face open and so tender he had to fight an overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and show her another kind of tenderness.

  "She's out for the count," he murmured.

  "She hardly slept at all last night."

  He took Sam's hand, felt a jolt of something pass through her body, but she didn't pull away until he'd led her back to the kitchen.

  "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes," he said.

  When she pulled her hand away, she got to the far side of the kitchen before she stopped, standing under the archway to the living room. If it weren't for the fact that she was rubbing her hand, the one he'd held, he might have been fooled by the coolness in her eyes.

  "Thank you," she said, remote voice matching her eyes. "If you'll go sit in the living room, I'll make coffee."

  He ignored her attempt to take over the kitchen. "I think we've both had more than enough coffee at the open house. I'll pour us some wine." He pulled out the bottle of white wine, opened a cupboard, found a massive selection of teas. Herbal teas, black teas, varieties he'd never imagined existed.

  He closed the door, opened another. Plates, bowls.

  "Here," she said, opening the next cupboard and taking out two thin-stemmed glasses.

  He poured the wine, concentrating on the level of the liquid in the glasses, aware of the soft sound of her breathing, the scent of her shampoo... almonds. He corked the wine, followed her into the living room. She didn't stop walking until she got to the window, then turned, placing her back to the view.

  Careful, he thought, be very careful. She would flee in an instant if she knew the thoughts in his mind. "You said you'd help find your own replacement?"

  She nodded, her eyes meeting his. "Yes, of course I will."

  He wanted to shake her, but he needed to suppress his anger. It would weaken his position. He thought of the Lloyd deal, of meeting with Jake Lloyd in New York knowing that other firms, bigger firms had tried to get a contract and failed. Yet Cal had felt confident, certain he could demonstrate the benefits, using Jake's own paranoia to make his case.

  A piece of cake compared with this.

  "So..." He made his voice thoughtful, saw her eyes narrow and wondered if she could see through to his anger. "What sort of person are we looking for? Where will we find this person?"

  "You'll need more than one person." She was more comfortable now, talking business. He saw her body relax as she spoke, and she lifted the wineglass to her lips, sipping unconsciously. "My job has grown into a collection of different jobs—some finance, some human resources, some planning, a little marketing. Eighteen months ago, you needed one person to look after the top level of all those functions, but now it's different. Human resources is shaping up very nicely with Jason Prendall in charge, but with your projected rate of growth over the next year or so, you're going to need an experienced negotiator in finance."

  "Stacey," he suggested, knowing their accountant was no negotiator, wondering why he'd never understood that Sam's quiet enthusiasm showed only the tip of her own passionate fires. On some level, he realized, he'd known and had responded with fantasies of another kind of passion.

  She was saying, "...not going to be able to move up to more responsibilities. You need a CFO, someone from one of the big companies, experienced in negotiations. We brought in Oscar to help out with the Lloyd contract, but you're going to need someone of your own."

  How could he have been so stupid as not to know how much he wanted her? Why had it taken the threat of her leaving?

  "You need to start searching for that CFO now, and for someone to head up the technical sales force, an expert in the kind of technical presales research you do yourself. You won't be able to handle it all now, so you need someone you can trust. Your job's going to change, Cal. You'll need to spend more time liaising with these new people or look at someone as vice president."

  "Vice president?"

  "For the moment, you should hire someone to replace me, someone you can groom for vice president. You'll need to be sure. Compatibility's a big issue."

  "I know who I want."

  She frowned. "We can start—"

  "You're my vice president."

  "I told you. I can't."

  He crossed the carpet and took the wineglass from her hand. He set it and his own glass on the windowsill before he took her shoulders in his hands. He felt her jerk in surprise, and his gaze got caught in her startled wide eyes, her parted lips. "Cal..."

  Her eyes looked exactly like those of the deer he'd seen last night. "Vice president, Sam. You make your own hours, oversee the search for the executives we're going to need, delegate. If you need more people, hire them. You're not leaving."

  The light from the lamp behind the sofa caught in her eyes, showing golden flecks in the deep brown. "Cal, there are other people, very talented people who could do my job standing on one leg."

  "No, there aren't." He took her hand because he needed to feel her pulse beating under his fingers. "Before you came, Tremaine's was growing fast, the details spinning out of control. No one but you could have persuaded me to give up control. After Barry defected, I swore I'd never trust anyone with that much control again. Without you, Sam, I'd still be trying to do it all, working on an ulcer and a heart attack. You taught me to delegate, taught me to trust you."

  She wouldn't meet his eyes. "You've still got a bit to learn about delegating."

  "I need you, Sam. Tremaine's needs you. But I need to know you won't change your mind, decide to quit again in six months time."

  He felt her hand stiffen but didn't release it.

  "Kippy has to come first."

  He knew he was gambling, but he wasn't going to let her walk away. "You're going to be Kippy's mother," he said slowly, "but she'll have no father. Is that what you want for her, to grow up without a father?"

  She jerked her hand free, then crammed both hands in the pockets of her suit jacket. "Lots of well-adjusted kids live in single-parent families."

  "It doesn't matter that she has no father?"

  "Of course it matters!" Her eyes were suddenly hot, militant, her body transformed in a heartbeat, and he fought his own response to the heat.

  He turned away and paced to the varnished dining room table. "You could give her a father," he said.

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  He wondered how long it would have taken him to discover Sam's passionate side if she hadn't threatened to leave, wondered why it was so damned arousing to find so much heat under such a calm surface.

  "I think you're a woman who would never let her orphaned niece down. I think you're a gifted executive. You have a magic way of getting people, business, everything sorted out, and neither Kippy nor I can afford to lose you. Have you thought what will happen if this social worker decides that Kippy would be better off without you?"

  Her eyes widened in shock. "That's not going to happen. She disapproves of me right now, but I'll win her over. Even if I don't, she's got no cause. I'll get permanent custody of Kippy."

  "You might have a better chance if you were married."

  "Dorothy's a widow. She didn't have a problem getting custody last winter."

  "When your sister died?"

  "Yes." She blinked tears back. "I'll get custody, and I'm not getting married just to give Kippy a father."

  "What if there were other reasons?"

  "What reasons?"

  "Marry me." He saw her shock and knew he'd better talk fast, before she got her breath back and threw him out. "You'd get a stable, conventional family to present to the court, a
father for Kippy."

  "That's insane." He heard her swallow. "I don't need—why would you—"

  "Because I'd get you as vice president, completely committed to Tremaine's. I'll settle a block of shares on you—twice what we agreed on previously."

  "This is a business deal?"

  "Yes," he said. "It's good business."

  Chapter Six

  A business deal.

  "You're crazy, Cal."

  In the kitchen, a bell rang.

  "That's the chicken," he said. "Why don't you change into something more comfortable while I get the food on the table."

  Something more comfortable. He didn't mean that the way it sounded; of course he didn't. "What kind of business deal? It's crazy, Cal. You can't be serious."

  "Crazy?" His eyes had that light in them, like those mornings when he stormed into her office, interrupting her routine to tell her about a new idea, a new way to make computers dance to his vision. "Sam, this is probably the best business decision I've made since the day I hired you."

  "I don't think we should—"

  "We'll work out the details after supper. When you go home after work, do you usually eat dinner in your suit?"

  "No, I—"

  "Then change. We'll eat; then we'll work out the details."

  "And will I get to finish my sentences?" she snapped.

  "Change first," he said and turned his back and walked into Dorothy's kitchen.

  Cal, dishing up dinner in her grandmother's house. The world had gone mad, but wearing a business suit wasn't doing anything to keep control of this conversation, so she may as well be comfortable.

  She hadn't realized how hungry she was until ten minutes later when she sat down to the smells of fried chicken, baked potato, and tender asparagus tips.

  "There wasn't time for baked potato."

  "I cheated. Six minutes in the microwave, fifteen in the oven."

  "Oh."

  She didn't know this Cal. She'd eaten with him before: business dinners in fine restaurants, clients entertained at his home with caterers providing the food, tepid meals in airplanes, and many pizzas eaten while working late in the board room on market plans, expansion requirements. Even one memorable dinner eaten long after midnight, during an endless night in which they examined travel schedules, expense claims, and computer-log entries to discover which employee was giving company secrets to the competition.

  "How did you learn to cook?"

  He placed a baked potato on her plate, added a chicken breast. "My mother taught both my sister and me. She's a doctor—my parents both are. Mom was always determined we'd eat properly, even if she wasn't there to cook. Once she'd taught us, we all took turns."

  She cut into the potato, saw that he'd found sour cream and chives. She wasn't certain what to do with a Cal who made dinner, who suggested a business deal that required marriage.

  "You have a sister?"

  "Adrienne. She's three years younger, a doctor as well—an obstetrician. She's always trying to find a wife for me."

  "I didn't know you were looking for a wife."

  "I wasn't."

  She concentrated on the potato, the sour cream. Then she cut into the chicken, a small piece because how could she eat, with Cal's suggestion of marriage hanging between them?

  "I guess I should ask if there's someone else," said Cal.

  She swallowed a mouthful of chicken without chewing. "No."

  "Marrying me wouldn't be stepping on someone else's territory?"

  "I thought we were going to eat before we talked about this, but since we're not, let's settle this." She put her fork down. "I'm not looking for a husband. Not now, not ever."

  He smiled, actually smiled. "OK, so tell me about your family. I know almost nothing about you. Tell me about your sister, about Dorothy."

  She didn't know what to say. Why was he calling her Samantha? He never called her that, always Sam. Sarah was the only other person who had always called her Sam.

  "Tell me about your family," he urged quietly.

  "I'm not going to marry you. It's crazy."

  "I'll tell you about mine, then."

  He picked up her fork, handed it to her. Mechanically, she began eating as he told her about his sister, Adrienne, who had nursed wounded birds and stray animals as a child, who'd gone to college intending to become a vet, until a pregnant friend asked her to be her labor coach.

  Samantha had never placed family around Cal in her mind, and doing so now, seeing him with his sister who loved babies and wanted to marry off her brother, made him somehow much too real.

  "She's not married?"

  "No, and she claims she never will be, unless she can find a man like our father, who isn't threatened by a strong woman."

  A man like Cal, she thought, remembering the times they'd argued about what was best for Tremaine's. As a consultant, she'd learned to be very careful opposing a client's conviction about what was good for his business. When the clients were men, they too often resented being given advice by a woman. With Cal, she'd gradually relaxed as she'd come to realize that although he would argue hotly when he disagreed with her recommendations, if she could give him good reasons, he would accept her ideas with none of the aggressive male insecurity she'd learned to expect.

  "My parents are a hard act to follow," Cal said as he carved his potato into pieces and began eating. "They've worked together since before they married. Partners in work and in life." He chewed a large mouthful of potato, swallowed, then said, "You and I are good partners. We have been from the beginning."

  There were a thousand things she could have said. Business partners didn't necessarily make life partners. She wasn't the sort of person who should ever marry. She didn't want to marry anyone, not Cal, not....

  Would they share the cooking, take turns as his parents had? Would Kippy learn to cook early and take her own turn? His family didn't sound conventional, but what did she know of conventional families? Would he play with Kippy, the way she'd seen other men play with babies in the park? Would he hold her high and send her into delighted squeals?

  A business deal, but he'd gone with her when she put Kippy to bed, had covered her tenderly, as if he really cared about this small baby whose world had suddenly turned upside down.

  She couldn't marry Cal. The idea was preposterous. She had to think about Kippy, had to forget about Tremaine's, and Calin Tremaine. When she picked up Kippy at Diane's today, the baby had clung to her tightly again, then fell asleep in her arms as if she were only now secure enough to sleep. Diane said she'd been awake all day, hadn't napped. Pining for Dorothy?

  Samantha pushed her plate away. "Cal, you can't marry someone just because you don't want them to quit a job."

  He carved a piece of chicken, chewed it, swallowed, then pushed his own plate aside. "Not them, Samantha. You. I don't want to lose you. Why are you determined never to marry?"

  "I'd make a mess of it."

  "I can't imagine you making a mess of anything you set out to do."

  "That's because I stick to what I do well."

  Mercifully, Kippy began crying and Samantha was able to excuse herself and hurry back into the baby's room. When she picked the Kippy up, the baby twisted against her and wailed. She carried the baby out to the dining room. Time for Cal to leave, and she wasn't going to be diverted with talk of marriage.

  "There's one motel on the island," she told him. Take my rental car. I'll give you directions."

  Kippy wailed even louder and thrashed about in her arms.

  Cal stood and reached out to touch the baby's face. Samantha's lips parted to protest, but somehow the words didn't come. He slipped the tip of his smallest finger between the baby's gums and suddenly, Kippy stopped crying and began sucking on his finger.

  "She's—she's hungry," Samantha stammered. Cal was too close, far too close, and although he was staring at the baby right now, any second he'd look up. She wasn't sure what he'd see then, but she knew she couldn't let
him hold her gaze with her heart pounding like this.

  "She's not hungry, Sam. She's teething and she needs something to chew on. Why don't you give her to me, while you go see if she's got a teething ring."

  "A teething ring?"

  "They're usually plastic, or maybe rubber, sometimes shaped like a pretzel. Or there might be some teething biscuits." He took the baby out of her arms and cradled her in the curve of his arm. Kippy still had Cal's finger clamped between her gums, and she accepted the change of arms without protest.

  Teething ring... or biscuits. Samantha walked into the pantry, feeling oddly unsteady. She found a package of biscuits evidently intended for babies, judging by the picture on the box.

  "Will this do?" she asked, returning to hold the biscuit out to Cal.

  He took it in one hand, brushed it against the baby's cheek. Kippy turned toward the teasing touch and began gumming the biscuit enthusiastically.

  "You have your finger back," Samantha said awkwardly.

  "Yes." And he had one hand free. He used it to brush a wisp of hair back from her face.

  "Cal—"

  "I won't let you down, Samantha. I won't let Kippy down either."

  "It's not that exactly."

  He took her hand and led her to the sofa, still holding Kippy in one arm. He sat and pulled her down beside him. "You said the social worker doesn't approve of you? "

  "Because I left today, for the open house. I shouldn't have gone, but I— That's when I realized I couldn't do a proper job for you and give Kippy what she needs. I needed to choose."

  "When do you see the social worker next?"

  "Tuesday morning. She cares about Kippy, but she's got the idea I'm a big-city businesswoman who can't be trusted with a child."

  "She'll change her mind. How long does it take to get married in British Columbia."

  "I don't know. Cal, I can't—"

  "We'll find out Monday morning. Tuesday I'll meet the social worker with you. We'll win her over."

  "Cal!" She softened her voice for the baby in his arms. He held Kippy as if he'd always held babies, but why was he here, holding her hand and the baby, slipping his way into their lives? Why wasn't she sending him away? "How did you learn about babies?"