The Daddy Decision

by Donna Sterling

  We can’t take that chance, he’d told her.

  Although logically she knew she should be glad that he agreed with her concern, she had been unreasonably hurt by that statement. Why? Of course he didn’t want a child—not now, and not from her. She thought back to what he’d said in the car: “Sex messes up a relationship based on parenthood,” which she knew applied to Fletcher and her. And then, “Just like parenthood messes up a relationship based on sex.” Hadn’t her relationship with Cort been based on just that—sex?

  He’d always been extremely cautious about not getting her pregnant. He couldn’t have been more miserable after that condom had broken. And now, as a carefree, footloose bachelor, he had no reason whatsoever to change his mind about parenthood.

  We can’t take that chance.

  Of course they couldn’t! Cort didn’t want to be a father to her baby, and she didn’t want him to be. Her child would be raised with a steadfast, loving father—a man who would be happy and proud to play that role in his daily life.

  The very idea of parenting a child with Cort provoked a sense of panic. He wreaked too much havoc on her emotions; kept her in a constant state of inner turmoil. Having a child with him would mean keeping in close contact with him, sharing every important event, knowing of the other women in his life. She would, in effect, have to play the role of his ex-wife without ever having had him as a husband.

  She pressed her palm to her mouth, leaned weakly against the bare living-room wall and thanked God that she hadn’t made love to him. Fletcher was the man, the only man, who could play the role of daddy without complicating her life too much.

  But even as she thought it, she remembered Cort’s argument that Fletcher felt something deeper for her than he admitted. If that was true, she would be subjecting Fletcher to the same kind of emotional trauma she’d just envisioned for herself with Cort...and exposing her child to an unhappy, perhaps bitter, parent.

  It wasn’t true, though. Fletcher felt only friendship and respect for her. They had discussed the nature of their relationship and their vision for the future many times. They would make the perfect set of parents.

  She could not jeopardize that alliance by risking pregnancy with Cort. Sex for sex’s sake wasn’t worth the risk...no matter how much her frustrated, anguishing inner woman begged to differ.

  HE HADN’t PLANNED on going to the office today. Hadn’t intended to leave Laura for any extended length of time. But here he sat at 6:00 p.m., alone in his Buckhead penthouse suite, scrolling down computer screens and staring blankly at stock market reports. He’d been here all afternoon and hadn’t accomplished much.

  Regardless of what he did—or tried to do—the words kept running through his head: the wrong man.

  It wasn’t as if it had been a revelation. He’d known from the first time he’d seen Laura, a wide-eyed, dewy-skinned freshman whom Steffie had recruited as a housemate, that she was way out of his league. Her clothes, her speech, her graceful bearing—most of all, her naiveté—left no doubt that she’d been raised in sheltered luxury. A suburban hothouse flower.

  He’d been more like the hardy weeds that sprout between the cracks of an inner-city sidewalk. He didn’t belong in her garden.

  He’d been deliberately distant at first. She’d paid him her first month’s rent, and he’d helped her move her fine new furniture and racks of designer clothing into her room. He’d barely spoken to her, and she’d seemed to shy away from him, too. Yet she’d dazzled everyone else from the very start with her warm smile, easy friendship and striking beauty.

  He’d found himself covertly watching her whenever she was around. Listening for her voice, her footsteps, whenever she wasn’t. Tensing when she inadvertently ventured too near.

  He probably would have managed to keep his distance if she hadn’t been home alone the evening he came in with a gash above his eye from breaking up a fight at the bar where he worked. He’d had a hard time stopping the bleeding, mostly because of the shards of glass embedded in the wound. Laura had been shaken at the sight, appalled that he’d been hurt. Despite his brusque, almost rude protest, she’d followed him into the bathroom and insisted on helping him clean and bandage the cut.

  That had been the first time she’d touched him. She’d pushed him down onto the commode and hovered over him, her breasts a mere whisper away from his face, her hands infinitely gentle in their work. She warmed him with her nearness, her scent, her tender caring. The beast within him prevailed, and before the night was over, he was kissing her. By the next evening, he’d taken her to bed. She became a necessity; a constant fever in his blood. A dangerous weakness.

  But even during the worst of his obsession, he hadn’t lost sight of reality. He barely earned enough to support Steffie and himself. He had nothing to offer a woman like Laura. She would realize it eventually, and move on.

  He’d lived in dread of that day.

  And then the condom had broken, and he realized how close he had come to seriously compromising her future. Was he acting honorably, making love to her night after night, when he hadn’t the means to provide for her, a baby and Steffie?

  The problem crystallized when her parents paid them a surprise early-morning visit and found Laura asleep in his arms. They decreed that she move out of his house and never see him again. Laura chose to defy them...even if she had to drop out of school and get a job.

  Never had Cort felt so torn. How could he encourage Laura to leave the security of her parents’ care, forfeit her education, throw away her future? If he allowed the beast within him to decide, he would keep her with him...even if it meant resorting to the desperate measures he’d once taken to keep Steffie and him alive.

  But if he had reverted to the dark side, he would have endangered them all. On the dark side, loved ones became targets. Human collateral. He would expose no one to that danger again, regardless of the quick bucks that could be made.

  He had hit a few low points in his life—when his father died slaving for pennies in a factory; when his mother had been snatched from her workplace and deported; when twelve-year-old Steffie had grown sick and hungry with no one to care for her except her sixteen-year-old brother.

  Giving up Laura had been another one of those low points. He had to leave her. She deserved a far better life than he could provide. And Steffie needed the support he was able to give her by keeping himself unencumbered. He had no choice. He had to move far, far away from the temptation that Laura would present if he lived anywhere near her.

  He hadn’t been gentle when the time came to leave. He’d been crude and cruel—enough to break their bond; to make her see the futility of clinging to a relationship that could only harm them both.

  Then he’d set out to make money. Serious money.

  He had, at least, accomplished that goal. But he’d also learned that money wouldn’t buy him everything. Or rather, everyone.

  It wouldn’t buy him Laura. The years and the way he’d broken off with her had stripped away her illusions about him. She now considered him little more than a mistake in her past. She saw their affair as a “silly infatuation.” At times, she hated him.

  But at other times, she kissed him with a passion as fine and strong as any they’d ever shared.

  Cort anchored his elbows on his desk and dragged his hands over his face. What the hell was he doing? He was obsessing over her again, just as he had in the Hays Street days.

  He marveled at the irony. He had enough money to keep her in high style now, but she no longer wanted him in her life. He was still the wrong man.

  She wanted a baby, and a man like Fletcher to father that baby. A man who had never hurt her. A man who wouldn’t mess up her tidy life with blinding sexual passion. Who wouldn’t mind if she indulged in a safely casual affair now and then with someone else.

  As much as Cort wanted Laura, he couldn’t assume the role Fletcher was willing to play. He had hurt her, and he wasn’t sure he could repair the damage. And he wanted to m
ess up her tidy life with blinding sexual passion. And he couldn’t tolerate the thought of her indulging in even the most casual affair with any other man.

  Then, of course, came the question of fatherhood itself. If they disregarded the fact that she didn’t want him in her life, took the risk of making love during the most fertile part of her cycle and the condom happened to break, how would he feel about fathering a baby?

  He braced himself for the onslaught. Memories and nightmares of the times he’d been helpless to keep his family safe usually laid him low whenever the topic entered his head. Surprisingly enough, the dread didn’t ambush him this time. He remembered, instead, Laura’s hopeful, radiant smile as she shared her parenting plan with her friends. He remembered how she looked holding Tamika’s baby—glowing with palpable happiness and maternal love. She would make a wonderful mother. He had no doubt about that. But what kind of father would he make?

  He didn’t know. He honest-to-God didn’t know. That very fact generated anxiety at the thought of some sweet little kid stuck with him as a dad—for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. To Cort, a father-child relationship was binding, sacred and eternal, like a marriage vow, even more so. He would never enter into parenthood lightly.

  Which meant he couldn’t risk making love to her now. Because with his luck, the damn condom would break.

  Darkness had descended by the time Cort drove home. He’d spent every moment of that drive firming up his resolution to keep far enough away from her to minimize temptation. He would not, under any circumstances, give in to an urge to kiss her, or hold her. Sexually speaking, she was strictly off limits.

  What a major change in policy! He’d brought her here to dissuade her from her parenting plan, but also to right the wrong he’d done to her, to make her see what an important part of life she was missing by avoiding intimate relationships. Specifically, an intimate relationship with him.

  Those goals still seemed so damn worthwhile.

  With mind, body and heart engaged in fierce battle, he walked in the front door, fully intending to keep his distance from her. But then she materialized at the top of the curving staircase wearing jeans—the tight, sleek-fitting kind she’d favored back in the Hays Street days. The kind that so clearly delineated the curve of her hips, the incredible length of her legs. She wore a simple, soft white blouse tucked in at her narrow waist. She’d left her hair down, a thick, shining billow of honey-blond. And she was bare-foot... which meant she’d taken off the damn panty hose.

  He stood riveted at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hi,” she greeted in a soft, shy tone that reminded him of the days before he’d ever kissed her.

  “Hi.”

  She descended the stairs slowly, as if pondering the wisdom of drawing any closer to him. “I, um, heated up the roasted chicken and vegetables. I’ve already eaten, but if you’re hungry, I’ll fix you a plate.”

  “No, thanks. I had a sandwich earlier.”

  She stopped on the last stair, which brought her eye level with him. “I’ve been studying the house, and can’t wait to consult with you about it. I’ll need to hear your ideas for the place. The things you like...” she halted, looking somewhat flustered, maybe because of the intensity of his stare “and the...the things you want.”

  Ah. The things I want. He wanted to touch her hair. Bury his hands in it. Pull her closer, breathe in her savory personal fragrance. Kiss the very breath out of her.

  “Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “But I...I thought you’re on a tight schedule. Unless you have something else planned for this evening, I see no reason we can’t—”

  “I need a swim,” he cut in, sounding brusque and impatient. “A long one.” He hadn’t intended the curtness, but the blood had begun drumming in his ears and heat invaded his loins. She was here, in his house, alone with him for the night—for many nights—and something about the vulnerability in her wide, brown-eyed gaze told him that if he reached for her, she wouldn’t stop him from kissing her. And maybe, if he kissed her in just the right way, he could distract her from everything else—the house, her job...their other concerns.

  He abruptly turned away from her and headed toward the back of the house, toward the heated, indoor pool He needed vigorous physical exercise to pull him through the night.

  “Cort,” she called from behind him, “if you’re angry with me, we probably should discuss it.”

  He stopped, closed his eyes in a brief grimace and turned to face her, annoyed with himself for giving her that impression. Letting out a short, toneless laugh, he assured her, “I’m not angry, Laura.” He leaned his shoulder against the glossy, oak-paneled wall beneath the staircase, shoved his hands safely into his pockets and gazed at her. ”Believe me, I’m not. I just feel the need for a good, strenuous workout.”

  Her eyes searched his, then she lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. “OKay,” she whispered.

  His longing for her welled up with such force that he had to grit his teeth. He’d tried for fifteen damn years to put her out of his mind. What chance did he have of that now? Just hours ago, they’d kissed each other into a frenzy. He’d tasted her mouth, her face, her throat; he’d felt her lying beneath him again, hot and responsive, her legs wrapped around his hips, her body undulating with his.

  Now he needed more than that. If he never made love to her again, if he couldn’t keep her as his own, he needed at least to feel her naked against him; to bring her passionately alive in his arms. He needed it with an urgency beyond all reason.

  With a sudden flash of clarity, as if God himself had supplied the answer, he knew in his heart that he was strong enough to do those things without compromising her future.

  “Come with me,” he breathed.

  She stared blankly at him. “To swim?”

  He slowly nodded.

  “But I...I don’t have a swimsuit.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat, and the vulnerability deepened in her gaze. “Nothing has changed, Cort. We can’t...make love.”

  “I know.”

  “Then, I don’t understand.” Her eyes glowed nearly golden with a sensuality he knew she couldn’t help. In a wavery undertone, she asked, “What do you want?”

  He drew closer, giving up the battle to resist touching her. Brushing his hand through her amber-gold tresses, he swore, “Intercourse won’t enter into it.”

  She shut her eyes tightly and swallowed hard. A tiny pulse throbbed near her temple, and he sensed a battle raging within her.

  Over the erratic clamor of his heart, he added firepower to the insurgent forces. “We′ll just...play.”

  Her lips parted, her breathing deepened, and she opened her eyes. They’d grown sultry and dark with temptation. “But what if we go too far?”

  He wove his fingers through the thick, silky locks at her nape. His other hand moved irresistibly to the sharp curve of her waist. “Have I ever lied to you? About anything?”

  “No.”

  “Then trust me now.”

  She stared at him with such blazing uncertainty that he couldn’t take the pressure building up within him. Gently he let go of her, pivoted and strode toward the back of the house.

  Would she follow him?

  Would she?

  He pushed through the door of the sunporch, crossed the softly lit garden through a glassed-in walkway and unlocked the door to the pool house. If she didn’t join him, he’d probably spend the whole damn night swimming laps.

  He switched on the lights and adjusted them to fit his mood. Then with brisk, efficient moves, he stripped off his clothes, dropped them onto a cushioned lounge chair and dived into the heated, oblong pool. When he broke the surface, he shook the water from his eyes and turned toward the door, his body tense with the hope that she’d be there.

  She wasn’t.

  He channeled the fierce thrum of disappointment into long, hard strokes through
the water, fixing his attention on the physical effort rather than the tumultuous need storming through him. He swam lap after lap.

  If it hadn’t been for the slight wave of light that glistened and moved across the water, he might not have lifted his head. He might not have realized that the door had opened.

  She stood there, just inside the room—silent, hesitant and so damn beautiful he could barely breathe.

  Their gazes locked. He tried to force welcoming words through his constricted throat, but they got lost along the way. His muscles tensed. His body hardened into a stiff, aching arousal.

  And she hadn’t even taken off her clothes yet.

  7

  LAURA’S HEART JOCKEYED wildly about in her chest as she stood stone-still near the doorway, hugging the fluffy burgundy towels she’d brought from the nearest bathroom. Cort, too, had ceased all visible movement, having broken off his smooth, long arm strokes at the sight of her.

  His eyes looked more black than midnight-blue; his wet skin darkly golden; his jet hair glossy, slicked back and dripping rivulets onto his wide, muscular shoulders.

  How she wanted to taste his kiss again! To feel his hands and mouth on her. To fan his banked heat into a raging inferno. Was she wrong to act on that desire? Intercourse won’t enter into it, he’d promised. She had no doubt he’d see to that. As much as he’d hurt her in the past, she knew she could trust his word.

  We′ll just...play.

  Heat flushed through her, along with trepidation. She hadn’t “just played” in any sexual way for years. She felt woefully unprepared. All the more reason to go for it.

  Laura chose to ignore the objections that surfaced in the rational part of her mind as she ventured farther into the spacious, Italian-tiled room. The turquoise water in the oblong pool glistened invitingly, illuminated from within and above by softly dimmed lights. Potted tropical trees and plants thrived on all sides, interspersed with cushioned lounge chairs and small glass tables. A verdant, woodsy fragrance mingled with the steamy scent of chlorine, making her slightly high.