Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  "Say it,” he commanded softly.

  It was a command no sane woman could resist.

  And as any sane woman would in the face of such sensual beauty, Hadleigh breathed, “Treet..."

  With a super-human effort, she jerked free and scrambled from the car before Brutal could open the door. She slammed it behind her and leaned against the limo, expelling the breath she'd been holding.

  No doubt about it, her knees were definitely shaking. She passed an equally shaky hand over her face and muttered an uncharacteristic curse, followed by a rueful chuckle. So much for maturity, she thought, blown away by her surprising reaction. The girls would have a field day if they knew that she—the same woman who had chided Karen over her silly, juvenile reaction on meeting the star—had melted like a hot candle at the touch of his fingertips.

  Not that Hadleigh would be foolish enough to tell them. Oh, no. Some sanity remained!

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Four

  "So...” Hadleigh cast a dead-pan look at Treet over her menu, opting for humor to hopefully ease the incredible tension in her belly. Since Treet announced he wasn't going to give up his daughter, either, most of her earlier animosity had faded, leaving in its wake a dangerously giddy relief. “Do I dare order linguini?"

  There was a slight flaring of his eyes before one eyebrow shot upward beneath the shadow of his cap. He'd laid his sunglasses aside to look at the menu. “The mystery lady has a sense of humor."

  "I'm no mystery lady,” Hadleigh quipped, focusing on her menu and not on the brilliance of his eyes. “Just a plain, hard-working mother of a rambunctious four-year-old."

  The moment the reminder was out, a charged silence fell between them. Now the exchange of information would begin and there would be no turning back, Hadleigh thought. Until this moment, Caroline was the name of Treet Miller's daughter, someone she'd read about, but had never met and didn't know.

  If it were possible, her stomach knotted even more tightly.

  The arrival of the waitress was a life-saver, in Hadleigh's opinion. She needed a moment to adjust to the fact that she was having dinner with Treet Miller in a public restaurant—before they began exchanging facts about their mutual daughters.

  How totally bizarre.

  With a faint shake of her head, Hadleigh resisted the urge to pinch herself. This was truly happening, and she might as well make the best of it. Something to one day relate to her grandchildren ... which would in reality be Treet's grandchildren.

  She ground her teeth and chided herself. No, nothing had changed; she was still determined to keep Samantha, and that would make Samantha her daughter. If she could find a way to have both, all the better.

  In a perfect world, Treet would put his menu aside and confess that he didn't have time to continue raising his daughter, that his lifestyle wasn't a good environment for a small, impressionable child.

  In a perfect world...

  Treet broke the new tension in a way that quickly dispelled Hadleigh's dangerous fantasies and made her smile. He kept his eyes on the menu as he gave the waitress his order. “I'll have the cold linguini shrimp salad and a glass of iced tea."

  It was nice that he could joke about his fame, Hadleigh mused. Holding the menu high to hide her impish smile, Hadleigh said, “Good choice, Ronald. I think I'll have the steaming linguini with the clam sauce."

  When the waitress had gone, Treet leaned forward. “Ronald? Is that a former boyfriend?"

  "No.” Hadleigh laughed at his absurdly disgruntled expression. “I just plucked the name from my head."

  "Thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  "You act as if you've done this before."

  "Well, I haven't. I guess I was just born with the talent,” she added breezily. Hadleigh avoided his gaze and reached for her water.

  "Sassy woman."

  She darted a quick look at him—it was the most she could handle—and tried to sound casual. Inside her heart was racing. “You don't even know me."

  "I'd like to."

  Habitual flattery. Hadleigh heaved an inward sigh. Too bad he was who he was, and they were here for the reason they were here. Otherwise ... otherwise she might have relaxed and enjoyed the flirty, chance-of-a-lifetime interlude. Like most women, she had had her share of fantasies about movie stars. And like most of her immediate friends, they had often included Treet Miller.

  At least they had before she found out his feet were made of clay. A sobering reminder.

  "I guess your curiosity's understandable, given the circumstances.” But Hadleigh didn't want to talk about herself, not that she didn't lead an interesting life. But compared to his own—well, her's would probably sound pretty dull. He might do something humiliating, like fall asleep on her. He was, after all, Treet Miller.

  To distract him, she whispered, “Don't look now, but I think someone's recognized you!"

  Treet froze, then carefully followed the direction of her eyes. Hadleigh watched his shoulders relax when he spotted Brutal sitting at a table a few yards away. She quickly dropped her laughing gaze when he turned to look at her.

  "Sassy, humorous, and a trickster,” he observed in that deep, sexy drawl of his. “What other secrets are you hiding, I wonder?"

  "Sorry. Guess I'm just nervous."

  "You could have fooled me."

  His fingers did a rapid tattoo on the table, filling the sudden silence. “Is she ... really rambunctious?"

  Hadleigh took a deep breath. This was it. She couldn't put it off any longer. And now that the drawbridge was down, it all came spilling out. “Yes, she is. And very bright. She's been reading since she was three and a half.” She took another gulp of her water to ease the sudden dryness in her throat. “How about ... Caroline? What's she like?"

  As she waited for him to speak, a fist slowly closed around her heart until her chest hurt. It was at that moment that Hadleigh realized just how perceptive Mrs. Shoreshire was. Never in a million years would she be able to forget about Caroline now that she knew. The shock of finding out was wearing off and reality was sinking in.

  "She has her moments of extreme energy, but for the most part, Caroline's the quiet type. A little bashful until she gets to know you. Then she'll talk your ears off. She's very bright, too, and loves books."

  Hadleigh listened to the loving pride in his voice. The fist around her heart slowly began to ease. A new mixture of feelings moved in, pushing her anxiety aside. Tenderness. Wistfulness. Regret. Jealousy.

  Terror.

  "She keeps after me to teach her to read, but I don't think it ever occurred to me that she could learn this early."

  "Samantha wouldn't take no for an answer. In fact, sometimes I wonder if she hears the word no at all.” Hadleigh smiled faintly in remembrance. “I have to practice reverse psychology to get her to do anything."

  "That sounds familiar."

  Surprised, Hadleigh looked at him.

  And wished she hadn't. His blue, blue eyes were shimmering with something that looked suspiciously like tears. She pretended not to notice—for his ego's sake. As for the sudden lurching of her heart, she decided not to notice that, as well. “You were like that as a child?"

  He grunted and glanced away as if embarrassed. “Was and still am, according to Brutal, my agent, and just about every director I've worked with."

  "That explains it, then.” Hadleigh forced a chuckle. “I couldn't figure it out. Jim's a quiet, orderly person, and I'm not usually so—so—"

  "Animated? Funny?” Treet supplied gallantly. “Does this mean I bring out the best in you?"

  He sounded ridiculously hopeful ... considering they'd only just met. A very good reminder. “I was just trying to ease the tension."

  "So you noticed it too."

  "Not that kind of tension,” she blurted out, then flushed. She hadn't meant to admit that she knew what he'd meant. And what if he hadn't meant it?

  "If you say so."

  Exasper
ated and embarrassed, Hadleigh said, “Look, we've got a serious situation on our hands, so could you please lose the charm? I'm not ... I mean, you don't have to...” Hadleigh floundered, then tried again as he folded his arms and looked amused. “I'm flattered, but I don't think we need to complicate things."

  He shrugged ... and continued to look at her in a way that made her shiver inside. As if he liked what he saw, and liked it a lot. How many women had seen that look? Hundreds? Thousands? Probably millions.

  "Okay, I promise not to say anything that I don't mean. Fair enough?"

  For a moment, Hadleigh simply stared at him. Finally she gave her head a rueful shake. “It's scary to think that my clever little monkey is going to grow up to be a clever big gorilla like her father."

  He flashed her the million-dollar smile that she'd recently seen on the cover of People magazine. “I can't wait to meet her.” His smile faded all too quickly. “Caroline looks like you. When I saw you in the cafeteria, I thought you looked familiar. Her eyes are brown, but shaped like yours. Her hair is a similar shade of mahogany, and her ears are exact replicas of yours."

  Hadleigh gave her ear a self-conscious tug. “Oh, no. Bless her heart. I've always hated my little ears."

  "You're kidding. I think they're delicate and beautiful. Very feminine."

  Another flattering remark Hadleigh wisely ignored. “Samantha has your eyes—those famous baby blues. Of course, not in a million years would I have made that connection."

  The waitress arrived with their food, her platter of steaming linguini transferred to the table without mishap. They ate in silence for a few moments before Hadleigh ventured hesitantly, “How—how is Caroline coping without a mother?"

  Treet stabbed a shrimp and popped it in his mouth. When he pulled the fork away, his mustache came with it. With a quick, boyish smile he tucked it out of sight beside his plate. “She's a daddy's girl, and she loves Miss Trudy, her nanny."

  Instantly, Hadleigh envisioned a tall, sleek blonde with a soft voice and big breasts. She winced at the image and shoved it away; it was none of her business if he employed a dozen blonde bimbos.

  "How about Samantha? All you have to do is read the papers to know what's happening in my life, but I don't have that luxury. Does your ex-husband share the responsibilities with you?"

  Hadleigh's throat closed at the mention of her ex-husband. She laid her fork aside. “It was Jim that demanded the DNA testing. He left before Samantha was born, but recently remarried and decided he wanted to play Daddy. Samantha doesn't even know him.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice as she added, “After finding out about the switch, I don't think I'll have to worry about Jim coming around again."

  "So that's the way it is.” Treet sounded as disgusted by Jim's actions as Hadleigh felt. He removed his hat, swept his thick dark hair from his forehead, and then replaced it.

  It proved to be a big mistake.

  "Hey, aren't you—oh my God, it's Treet Miller!"

  A blood-curdling scream followed the young girl's shrill announcement. Chairs scraped the floor, and voices rose from a comfortable murmur to an excited roar within astounding seconds.

  Like the genie of fairy tales, Brutal appeared as if by magic at Treet's side and yanked him out of his chair. Before Hadleigh could fully comprehend what was happening, Treet reached out and grabbed her arm before Brutal could drag him away.

  "Let's get out of here, boss, before they tear you limb from limb,” Brutal shouted. He pulled them through the swinging doors into the restaurant's kitchen, startling the cooking crew into silence.

  The silence didn't last long.

  A plump, middle-aged woman wearing a stained apron and a hair net over her iron gray curls turned from her task to stare at them. Her eyes widened in instant recognition. “Look! It's Treet Miller, by God! Right here in our kitchen!” The spoon she'd been holding clattered to the floor as she started in their direction at a lumbering run. Along the way her hip bounced off the handle of a big pot on the stove, sending it crashing. Steamed lobsters washed across the floor beneath the force of the boiling water.

  The urgency of their situation finally sank in. Hadleigh, pressed against Treet's back, glanced frantically around, looking for the back door as Brutal tried to block the woman's path.

  She spotted a small storeroom off to the left. Grabbing a fistful of Treet's flannel shirt tail, she shouted, “Come on! This way."

  They made it inside just as the growing crowd burst through the swinging doors of the kitchen. For the moment, Hadleigh didn't think they had spotted them.

  Brutal appeared in the doorway of the storeroom, blocking the crowd's view. “Lock the door,” he instructed. “And don't move. I'm going for back up."

  Before Brutal could get the heavy door shut, Treet thrust out his booted foot and grinned at Brutal. “Aren't you going to say I told you so?"

  The big bodyguard appeared speechless. Finally, he sputtered furiously, “Boss, one of these days I'm gonna—"

  "There he is!” someone screamed behind Brutal, effectively ending his tirade.

  "Treet! Treet Miller!"

  Hastily, Treet removed his foot and shut the door, bolting it from the inside.

  Stunned, shaken, still reeling from the bizarre events of the last few moments, Hadleigh found herself alone in a very small space with a man who could arouse millions of otherwise sane, mature women to a frothing, crazy frenzy.

  America's number one heart throb.

  A superstar.

  A sexy, drop-dead gorgeous hunk with blazing blue eyes and a killer smile. A man who obviously possessed an irresistible charm, not to mention the fact that he filled out his jeans like nobody's business—front and back.

  Samantha's father.

  She put a hand to her throat, not surprised to find her pulse pounding in a crazy, erratic rhythm. It was a brutal reminder that she, too, was a woman. Did she really think she was immune where others were not? Even now, the crowd outside continued to chant Treet's name as if their lives would change dramatically if they could only touch him.

  When he turned from securing the door and leaned his back against it, Hadleigh blurted out the first silly thing that came to her mind, which just happened to be a corny cliché. “Do—do you come here often?"

  * * * *

  Her eyes were huge in her pale face, a heart-shaped face framed by thick hair the color of dark chocolate.

  She was frightened, that much Treet could see. And shocked, as could be expected. But he thought he saw something else in the luminous depths of her eyes ... something not unlike fear, but not exactly fear.

  Wariness. Reserve. Determination.

  Interesting, Treet mused, admitting to himself how refreshing it was to see something other than blind adoration on a woman's face. The fact that she was wary interested him most of all, because if she was wary, that meant she was worried about something.

  And since he was an optimistic kind of guy, he chose to believe that her worry stemmed from the attraction she'd have to be blind, deaf, and dumb not to notice. He didn't think she was any of those things.

  With a barely perceptible move, Treet shifted his back against the light switch digging into his spine.

  The room went dark. She let out a tiny shriek of surprise, then fell silent.

  "You see?” Treet heaved an exaggerated sigh. “That's why I stopped coming here. They not only let strangers tromp all around their kitchen, they never pay their light bill."

  "You're not funny. What—what do you think happened to the lights?"

  "I don't know. Maybe their hoping one of us is claustrophobic. Sort of like a smoke out."

  Behind him, the crowd continued to chant his name, their voices rising and falling. He felt a rumbling against his spine as someone beat on the door and demanded he open it. As if.

  "If you were, they'd know it,” she pointed out matter-of-fact.

  "What about you?"

  "Not claustrophobic, no."


  Striving to keep the hope out of his voice, he asked, “Afraid of the dark?"

  "Not—not really."

  He shamelessly pounced on that tiny hesitation. Gauging the distance between them, he reached her and gently snagged her waist with his arm. Very, very slowly, he pulled her in his direction, relying on instinct and smell alone to guide her to him. She wore expensive perfume—something light and tantalizing.

  Her breath exploded against his neck as she whispered, “What—what are you doing?"

  Treet closed his eyes and inhaled the soft fragrance of her hair before he answered. His voice was noticeably husky when he did. “Following Mrs. Shortshirt's advice."

  She awarded him with a nervous chuckle. “You mean Mrs. Shoreshire, don't you?"

  "Do I?” Treet countered teasingly, bringing her just a little closer. They were nearly touching now, and he could feel his body straining toward hers. He hoped Brutal had a hell of a time finding someone to help him control the crowd outside. With Hadleigh in his arms, he could stay here all night. “Didn't she suggest we appear friendly?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "She said we should look convincing, too."

  "Hm, but—"

  "You said yourself that my daughter is extremely bright.” He felt her stiffen and knew he'd said something wrong. It didn't take him long to figure out what it was, either. “I meant your daughter, not my daughter.” Although her daughter was his daughter. Or could be.

  "It's okay. I just—I'm just not used to sharing her with anyone."

  "Me either. It's just been me and Caroline for a long time now.” Her silence was telling, and prompted him to ask, “You don't believe me?"

  "Your personal life is not my business, Treet."

  He liked the way she said his name, drawing it out as if she liked saying it. Wishful thinking, he supposed. Still, a man could wish. “Rule number one if we're going to be friends; don't believe anything you hear, see, or read about me.” The darkness masked her expression, but Treet sensed her skepticism.

  She didn't bother hiding it from her voice. “Photographs don't lie."

  "The hell they don't. Four years ago they featured me on the front page of Sizzling Star with Lady Diana. I've never met her in my life."