Baby's First Christmas

by Marie Ferrarella

  Sullivan nodded as he immediately ceased. “That’s good.”

  “Why?” She slowly drew her fingers from his.

  Sullivan nodded toward the orchestra. “Because the music stopped.”

  She had been so wrapped up in the conversation that she hadn’t noticed. Embarrassed, Marlene flushed and turned from him. As she began walking away, Sullivan joined her, taking her arm and guiding her past a waiter with a full tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  Marlene tried to draw her arm away unobtrusively. She succeeded only marginally. “I can walk without you.”

  “I’m sure you can. However, this allows me to keep track of you. You’re slipperier than you look.” His hold tightened slightly.

  Her eyes on his, she uncoupled herself from him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to the rest of the party.”

  “We haven’t talked yet,” he reminded her.

  But Marlene was already disappearing on him. “On the contrary, we’ve talked enough.”

  Sullivan caught up to her easily, managing to shoulder aside the man Marlene wanted to speak to, the head of Breckinridge’s board of directors.

  When she felt Sullivan’s hand on her arm, she stiffened and turned around. “I don’t need you to watch.”

  He intended to keep her within his sight until he got the opportunity to talk to her. “Who knows? I might learn something.”

  She raised her chin. He was laughing at her, but she knew how to deal with that. Her father had taught her well. “Maybe you might at that.”

  She took everything as a challenge, he thought, even when it wasn’t meant as one. He gestured with his free hand.

  “Lead the way. I’m all ears.” He paused, thinking of another way he might be able to soften her. “Oh, by the way, I could arrange an introduction to Matthew Geodano for you if you’re interested.”

  That, he noted, caught her attention.

  The elusive designer was legendary. And Marlene knew his account ran well into the seven-figure range. But the introduction would place her in Sullivan’s debt. The price tag was too large for her to pay.

  “Thanks, but I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on that.”

  He shrugged casually. “It’s up to you.”

  Stubborn, Sullivan thought, to the very end. No doubt about it, he had his work cut out for him.

  Chapter Five

  With a satisfied sigh, Marlene silently congratulated herself. It had been a rather productive ninety minutes, even if she did say so herself. She’d managed to touch base with a number of clients and break ground with several would-be clients. She’d even convinced Carl Hays that her company could run a better TV campaign for his new line of perfume than his current advertising company did. Winning the Hays account would certainly send their stock up a notch or two. Not as much as getting the Geodano account, but at least she was still her own person.

  Merry Christmas, she toasted mentally.

  Throughout the evening, she’d been very aware that Sullivan was always somewhere close by, observing her. She had to admit that it was unnerving. In a way, it almost reminded her of her father. Except that Sullivan wasn’t wearing her father’s perpetual frown. And there was certainly no fear involved, no eagerness to please on her part. Only a growing sense of annoyance.

  She tried to block his presence out, but it didn’t work for long. Sullivan Travis wasn’t the kind of man you could easily ignore. Especially not when he was within touching range.

  Not that he did.

  It just felt as if he had. Or would, even though his hands remained at his sides. She supposed what bothered her most was that having him so close created a latent anticipation that seemed to dance all through her. An anticipation of what, she wasn’t certain. Pending doom, probably. It had her on her guard, which blew her attempt to ignore him.

  Sullivan had trouble taking his eyes off Marlene. She was fairly glowing with triumph. The look on her face was probably identical to the one worn by Joan of Arc when she’d returned home after leading the French to victory in battle.

  If Joan had been pregnant, Sullivan amended.

  He would have actually admired Marlene’s smooth tactics, he mused, if they weren’t in direct competition with his own for the infant she carried. But they were in competition. And, since fate had seen fit to deal him this hand, it was time to make use of the opportunity. Taking two plates from the stack at the buffet table, Sullivan crossed to Marlene and handed her one.

  Marlene looked down at the fine china with its delicate design. She recognized it as part of the huge set her father had given Breckinridge two Christmases ago when the account had been renewed.

  “What’s this?”

  “A plate. It looks better with food on it.” He turned on his heel and led her to the table.

  She followed unwillingly. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “No.” Sullivan glanced at her over his shoulder as he helped himself to a small serving of caviar. “But I thought that after sweeping half the room clean with your charm, you might have worked up an appetite.”

  His back was to her, and she couldn’t tell from his tone if he was smiling or not. She moved next to him and pretended to survey the table. “Was that a compliment or a judgment?”

  Examining it, he supposed that it was a little of both. “Interpret it any way you wish, as long as it keeps us on civil terms.”

  Marlene regarded the plate and decided that perhaps eating a little something wouldn’t be such a bad idea. “I am always civil,” she informed him. “Unless I’m threatened or challenged.”

  “I’m just here to have a good time.”

  His innocent tone didn’t fool her. She knew better than to relax.

  Marlene looked down the huge buffet table with its perfectly formed ice sculpture in the center. The sculpture, a jovial looking Santa Claus, complete with a pack of toys flung on his back, was only now beginning to melt. The food, artistically arranged around the sculpture, didn’t move her. But then, she was never very hungry when she worked, and tonight had been work. It seemed to be the only way she ever socialized lately.

  Marlene rotated her neck, feeling suddenly tired. Or was she just tense?

  Sullivan perused the different servings and decided that having money didn’t necessarily mean you had taste. He glanced at Marlene’s plate. She obviously shared his assessment. There was very little on her plate, as well.

  He inclined his head toward her, lowering his voice. “You really know how to work a room.”

  Marlene stopped contemplating a platter with a color-coordinated assortment of seafood to look at him. The comment sounded like something someone would have said to a saloon girl in the old West. Or to one of the women who frequented dark doorways and offered passersby heaven for half an hour and a price.

  She frowned at him, absently settling on the avocado dip. “I wasn’t ‘working the room,’ I was just touching base with some clients.”

  “Same thing.” Following her lead, Sullivan took a symmetrically shaped celery stick and sampled the dip. It had looked like avocado, but its taste surprised him. The flavor was entirely different, entirely unknown, but very pleasing.

  He wondered if it would be the same if he sampled her mouth.

  Sullivan cleared his throat, clearing the thought away as well. “You know, you’re an entirely different person when you talk business.”

  Marlene raised her eyes to his, her pulse beating a little quicker than she would have liked. She tried to remember that she didn’t like being analyzed.

  “I don’t think—”

  He took another taste of the dip. It was definitely growing on him. “Confident. Knowledgeable.” His eyes skimmed her face. She looked a little flushed again. “Vivacious,” he added.

  Marlene worked hard at seeming uninterested in his assessment. “Conversely, under regular circumstances that would make me wavering, stupid and dull.”

  She meant the comment cryptically, but the words brought similar la
bels to mind. Judgments uttered by her father. That had always been the way he’d seen her—lacking in everything that was important.

  “I doubt if you ever really wavered.” Sullivan reached for the napkins and handed one to her. “You’re definitely not stupid, and I’d be willing to bet you are never dull.”

  She shrugged off his words, intended, she knew, just to get on her good side. She’d been around enough smooth salesmen to know the signs. And there was a very large bonus at stake here. But yet, he didn’t strike her as the slippery type. There was something in his eyes that didn’t quite jibe with the specifications.

  “That is one bet, Travis, you will never have a chance to collect.”

  Sullivan smiled. “The first rule of business my father taught me is never judge a book by its cover, and never be certain that you know your adversary. He might surprise you.”

  It was a nice, antiseptic word to describe the situation they found themselves in. “Is that what we are? Adversaries?”

  He looked at her meaningfully over the selection of seafood. “That is entirely up to you.”

  Meaning, if she gave in, they wouldn’t be. Fat chance. She let her fork slide to the plate. She would only concede so much, and no more.

  “I am this baby’s mother. You are, according to your claim, his or her uncle. That makes us bound, indirectly, by blood. Relatives of a sort, if you will.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you consider your relatives adversaries, Travis?”

  He looked annoyed, then laughed. “Some.” He nodded at her. “You’re good.”

  His smile was infectious. Her guard went up another notch. “I’ve had to be.”

  Their hands touched as they both reached for one of the imported bread sticks. He withdrew his to allow her first choice. As she picked one, he resumed his assessment of her. “You’re not the vain type.”

  He was flattering her again, and she knew she shouldn’t be reacting to it. They were just vacant words. But somehow, in his mouth, they had a different sound. A genuine sound. But that, she reasoned, was probably part of his plan—to get her at her ease. To make her trust him. When she did, he would spring a trap for her baby.

  There was no way that was going to happen. Marlene lowered her eyes as she poked at a huge, flattened shrimp coated in a glaze that caught the light from the chandelier. She decided to pass on it.

  “In my own life, I deal in facts. The fact is,” she asserted as she raised her eyes to his, “you’re not going to get my baby, so stop spinning your web.”

  “Why don’t we table this topic for a while?” he suggested mildly.

  More like forever, she thought, but said nothing. She didn’t want to get into an argument in a public place, least of all here.

  Sullivan looked around the room. Marlene had been on her feet the entire time she’d been at the party. He saw an unoccupied chair against the wall. “Shouldn’t you be sitting down or something?”

  He was definitely the type who liked taking over, she thought. And she was the type who didn’t like being taken over. She’d already paid her dues in that department. That automatically placed them on opposite sides of the fence.

  Marlene raised her chin. “If I wanted to be sitting, I’d be sitting.”

  Someone brushed against his shoulder, and Sullivan moved closer to Marlene. He looked down into her eyes and saw the stubbornness shining there. “No,” he said slowly, “I don’t think so.”

  She squared her shoulders beneath the deep velvet padding of her jacket. “Meaning?”

  He didn’t think he really had to explain it to her. She knew. “Meaning that you’re stubborn enough to stay on your feet even when every fiber of your body is begging you not to—just to prove a point.”

  Marlene shifted. Travis understood her a little too well for her comfort. She didn’t like that. “And that point being?”

  He shrugged good-naturedly, sinking his fork into the seafood array on his plate. “That I haven’t figured out yet, beyond the fact that you’re determined not to allow pregnancy to slow you down.”

  She didn’t want him taking his analysis any further. “That would be enough.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded, inclining his head. He took a bite before continuing. “But I think there’s probably more.”

  She pushed around the few things that were on her plate, attempting to work up some sort of an appetite. She decided that she’d been gracious long enough. “I refuse to be psychoanalyzed over a plate of shrimp, Travis.”

  He would wager there were a great many things that she refused to put up with. Despite the initial circumstances that had brought them together, he found himself growing intrigued.

  Sullivan pressed on amicably as if she hadn’t attempted to cut him dead. “They’re your ankles. You want them to swell up just because you have a point to prove to someone, that’s your business.”

  Her ankles? What was he talking about? “My ankles are fine.” Holding the plate in one hand, she lifted the hem of her velvet skirt with the other to show him.

  He glanced down. She was wearing matching velvet pumps and silk stockings. Even from that small glimpse, her ankles looked sexy.

  “Yes, maybe they are at that.” Then, as if he’d won his point, he indicated the wall closest to them. “There’s a chair over there.”

  She had no idea what made her stubbornly dig in. Maybe it was because she’d had to give in on so many points, small and large, before her father had died. Maybe he just rubbed her the wrong way. Or maybe she didn’t like reacting to him when she knew that he was after only one thing: custody of the baby. Whatever the reason, Travis had set her off.

  “Your powers of observation really are keen, aren’t they?”

  He let the sarcasm wash over him. He’d been subjected to a great deal worse. “There’s no shame in sitting while you eat.”

  She turned her back to the chair and continued to pick at her plate, rearranging the items and eating nothing. “There’s no need, either.”

  He shrugged as if it were all one and the same to him. “Well, if you won’t, I will.” Leaving her, Sullivan strode over to the chair.

  Marlene counted to ten, then sighed and followed him. Sullivan caught Cynthia Breckinridge’s scent before he saw her. Seventy-five dollars an ounce and used unsparingly. He raised his eyes in the woman’s direction.

  Cynthia placed a well-manicured hand on his shoulder. “Has she deserted you, Sullivan?” Disappointment throbbed in her voice.

  He saw Marlene approaching. He felt a small note of triumph.

  “No, I’m just reserving a chair for her.” For Cynthia’s benefit, he nodded toward Marlene who was behind her. “I would imagine that it’s a little hard for Marlene to move quickly these days.”

  Marlene stopped short just to Sullivan’s right. Alan Breckinridge’s department store was one of the major accounts held by her company. She had landed it herself. It had been her first account when she had joined her father’s agency. She was on very good terms with both Alan and Cynthia. Cynthia’s friendship with Travis made her feel outnumbered.

  Between them, she and Cynthia framed Travis like two uneven bookends. Somehow, she was going to make him pay for that last remark, she thought. Dearly.

  “Thank you for being so thoughtful,” she said to him tightly.

  He moved away from the chair, and Marlene was forced to sit down or look like a fool. Something, she was certain, Travis would have readily enjoyed.

  “Don’t mention it.” He turned toward Cynthia. “All in all, I think she wears the blush of motherhood rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

  Satisfied, Cynthia began withdrawing. But before she did, she hooked an arm through Sullivan’s and moved him closer to Marlene.

  “Yes, far better than I had thought. Now make nice, you two. Remember, this is the season for brotherly love. Nothing wrong with slipping in a little sisterly love, as well.” She winked broadly, then released her hold on Sullivan’s arm. “Well, if you’ll excuse me. I have to go
and mingle. So many stick-in-the-muds here. A hostess’s work is never done.” She sighed dramatically.

  Marlene looked up at Sullivan as Cynthia disappeared into the crowd. “The blush of motherhood?”

  The corners of his mouth curved. “Best I could do on short notice.”

  “You could have spared yourself the trouble.”

  He let his glance slide over her. “I live for trouble.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Elaborate.”

  He laughed shortly, then decided that there was no harm in telling her. Maybe carrying Derek’s child gave her the right to know a little something about his brother.

  “Derek was what you might call a rebel, a prodigal son who never came home to sample the fattened calf.” His mouth curved slightly. “My father doted on Derek even as he railed that he behaved like a heathen.”

  The description reminded her of Robby and the relationship her older brother had had with their father. Robby had been too young to really rebel, but even the slightest hint of willfulness had James Bailey turning red. Robby had known how to irritate him from a very young age. There was no doubt in her mind that he would have gone down his own path if he’d lived.

  If anything, the peek into Derek’s life Sullivan gave her made her feel close to the man whose seed she had taken. “I know how that is.”

  Sullivan looked at her sharply. He thought she was patronizing him and realized, as he looked into her eyes, that she wasn’t. She really did understand. For the first time he found himself wondering about her and thinking of her as a person in her own right, rather than just an extension of the problem.

  He relaxed a little. “It was always up to me to clean up Derek’s messes.” He shrugged. “There were women to buy off, incidents to keep quiet. Things like that.” The family name had always been so important to his father. It was as if the name had a life of its own, apart from the rest of them, and it, above all, had to be honored and protected.

  She couldn’t say she cared for his analogy. “Is that what this is? Another mess to clean up?”