Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  "Did you sue?"

  "No.” She shifted restlessly in the loose hold of his arms, but to his delight, she didn't move away.

  "Like I said before, it's not really my business what you do. I may know you, but I don't know you."

  "Which brings me back to the point at hand. I think we should start right now getting to know one another.” Her soft, helpless laughter sent a thrill right down to his toes.

  "Just like Samantha—too impatient to start at the beginning."

  Treet shrugged, grinning to himself. He inched his hand along her spine until he reached her shoulder. Her delicate bones shifted beneath his fingers. “We had dinner, didn't we?"

  "Do you always go straight from dinner into bed?"

  "Do you always read people's minds?” he countered softly. Cupping her chin, he brought her face close to his; he could feel her warm breath against his mouth, excited little puffs that gave him hope. Prudently, he checked his urgent impulse to plunge ahead and kiss her. “I don't think we're going to have a problem convincing our girls that we like each other."

  "Liking is as far as it's going to go, Treet. I'm not a sleep-around kind of woman.” Her voice dropped to a squeaky whisper as Treet nuzzled his mouth against hers.

  "Thank God. But a little hugging and kissing won't hurt, will it? Just to show them what great friends we are."

  "I'm beginning to think you have a devious mind."

  She inserted her hand between them and pushed gently at his chest, but her breathing wasn't anything close to normal, Treet noted with supreme satisfaction.

  "Look, I don't think it would be a good idea to become involved like this."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you're Treet Miller, and I'm just—just Hadleigh Charmaine.” She sounded exasperated and flustered in the same breath. “We might as well live on different planets."

  "Can you be a little more specific?” Meanwhile, Treet had managed to pull her another inch closer. Soon he'd have her fully against him—something he discovered he wanted more than he'd wanted anything in a long time.

  Reluctantly, she admitted, “I don't know if I'm reacting to you, or to Treet Miller."

  Well, she didn't mince words, Treet thought, wincing inwardly, but at least she was admitting to a reaction. After a slight hesitation, he decided a little humor was in order. Humor seemed to be the magic key between them. “The answer to that should be pretty obvious."

  "You lost me."

  "You're still in your clothes."

  Treet braced himself for a slap. Fact was, he wouldn't have blamed her if she had slapped him, because now that the words were out, he realized how crass he sounded. Crass and conceited.

  But she didn't slap him.

  Instead she gave him his most fervent wish by falling against him and burying her face in his shoulder—laughing. “You are incorrigible!” she muttered between chuckles. “And I'm not supposed to like you."

  Treet was so immersed in savoring the feel of her supple body against his hardening one that he nearly missed her last statement. “You're not?” She shook her head, sending her silky hair cascading across his cheek.

  "Never mind."

  "Oh, no you don't. You can't just blurt out something like that and expect me to forget it."

  "Let me go and I'll tell you."

  "Kiss me and I'll let you go."

  "Why do you want to kiss me? There must be thousands—no, hundreds of thousands of women who would give their eye teeth to be kissed by you."

  "And you're not one of them.” Treet deliberately injected a note of hurt in his voice. Actually, it wasn't as contrived as he had meant it to be. “Just my luck."

  "You only want to kiss me because I'm not falling at your feet. It's that primitive, male conquering thing."

  "What are you, a psychologist?"

  "No, I'm an illustrator for children's books."

  "You're that Hadleigh Charmaine?” Treet let out a low whistle. “See, we're of the same species after all, so it's okay for us to kiss."

  "You're making fun of me."

  But she was chuckling again, which Treet took as a very good sign. He loved this woman's sense of humor. “Seriously, I'm not joking. I've seen your name in several of Caroline's books. That puts you on the Hollywood map, honey, so come here and give me a kiss."

  "Stop!” She was laughing against his neck again, obviously unaware of what it did to him.

  Treet decided he'd been patient long enough. He cupped her chin in his hand and guided her mouth to his, turning her laughter into a moan of surprise. He kissed her softly, exploring her tender, shapely lips before slipping his tongue between her teeth.

  It was a joyous, exciting moment when she gave him access and allowed him to press her tightly against his arousal.

  And hell on earth when the door behind him opened abruptly, polluting his small slice of heaven with screaming fans and shouting policemen.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Five

  Hadleigh unlocked her apartment door and stepped inside, dropping her purse on the hall table. She paused a moment, frowning at the unnatural quiet. Apparently Karen and Samantha were gone, probably to get something to eat, she mused.

  When she turned around, she encountered two astounded pairs of eyes watching her from her sofa.

  Barbi Copeland and Doreen Bates, two of her best friends. As one, they came to their feet and rushed to her side. Doreen had apparently come straight from work; she still wore her paramedic's uniform.

  "What happened to you? Oh my God, Hadleigh, you look awful!” Barbi, who owned and operated an exclusive beauty salon, plucked at Hadleigh's wild hair, attempting to smooth it down.

  Doreen echoed Barbi's exclamation, indicating Hadleigh's torn sweater. She bent closer to examine a nearly invisible scratch on her arm. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

  "He wouldn't let go of me."

  "Why, that son-of-a-bitch!"

  "I knew this would happen!” Barbi said. “We've got to call the cops! I don't care if he's the pope, he won't get away with this!"

  Dazed, bruised, and still reeling from the day's events—and Treet's kiss—Hadleigh watched in silence as Barbi marched to the phone and snatched it up. Her long, red nail tapped an angry, impatient rhythm against the phone.

  Finally, Hadleigh found her voice, suppressing the hysterical urge to laugh. This day had been the most bizarre day of her life, and it apparently wasn't over. She felt like weeping and laughing at the same time. “Treet didn't do this, Barbi, so put the phone down."

  Her friend froze with phone in hand, obviously not convinced. “Then what happened? Why are you—you mauled like this? Karen said you left with Treet Miller—"

  "I did, and yes, I've been with him. But he didn't do this. His fans did.” All because he wouldn't let her go. When she had tried to remain behind as Brutal pushed and shoved his way through the frenzied crowd, he'd kept hold of her hand, stubbornly insisting she stay with him. Silly to be flattered, but she was.

  "His ... fans?” Doreen echoed faintly.

  Sighing, Hadleigh stumbled to her favorite chair and collapsed. Quickly, she related the evening's events to her eager, curious friends, leaving out the most memorable event of all—the kiss. And what a kiss. Her toes were still tingling in reaction. It would be years before she could forget it, although the sane, logical side of her brain insisted she try.

  What a fickle person she was! When she first realized Treet was Samantha's father, she was determined to believe every horrible, shocking thing she'd read about him.

  Then she'd met him, and he was nothing like she expected.

  After they finished listening to her outrageous tale, Barbi and Doreen remained silent for a moment. Hadleigh suspected they were as stunned as she felt.

  "So ... let me get this straight,” Barbi said slowly. “You were locked in a storeroom with Treet Miller for half an hour?"

  Hadleigh nodded.

  "And you've told
us everything?” Doreen asked in a disbelieving voice.

  A flush crept up Hadleigh's neck as she nodded again. It wasn't like her to keep things from her close friends, but she wasn't ready to talk about what else happened in that storeroom—at least not until she'd had time to think about it first.

  "So what's he like?” Doreen demanded, apparently satisfied that Treet hadn't manhandled Hadleigh, but not totally convinced he hadn't put the move on her.

  If only she knew, Hadleigh mused, imagining their reaction. “He's funny."

  Barbi's eyes widened. “You spent thirty minutes in a closet—"

  "Storeroom."

  "Storeroom with Treet Miller and all you can say is that he's funny?"

  "He reminds me a lot of Samantha,” Hadleigh added.

  "Oh."

  "I see."

  Barbi and Doreen exchanged a mysterious look. Hadleigh narrowed her eyes between the two. “Something you're not telling me?"

  "We were just wondering,” Barbi began reluctantly, “if you remembered the rumor that was floating around about the time that Cheyenne gave him custody of Caroline."

  Hadleigh's stomach bottomed out. She didn't have the slightest idea what Barbi was talking about, but she suspected she was about to find out. “Go on."

  "The one about Caroline not being his."

  As their meaning finally sank in, Hadleigh closed her eyes against the impact it had on her already overloaded nervous system. “So you guys are thinking ... that if this rumor was true, then he might try to take Samantha from me, even after he assured me that he didn't want to give Caroline up any more than I wanted to give Samantha up?"

  "We're saying that you need to be careful. You can't forget that he planned to take Cheyenne's baby from the beginning."

  Hadleigh couldn't resist pointing out the obvious. “Let's say the rumor is true, which Treet would obviously know about. Do you honestly think he would have fought so hard to get custody of Caroline, and keep her for the past four years?"

  "He's a public figure,” Doreen said. “After making such a fuss about it, what else could he do without damaging his image?"

  It just didn't make sense, Hadleigh thought. “You weren't there. He talks about Caroline like I talk about Samantha. He loves Caroline."

  "He's an actor,” Barbi reminded her bluntly. “Rumor has it they paid him twenty-five million for his brief roll in Doubting Daniel. And there's something else: while we were waiting on you to get back, someone called asking questions about you. He wouldn't give us a name."

  Hadleigh groaned. “Not a reporter!"

  "I don't think so. He sounded like an investigator, and when I told him you weren't here he started asking me very personal questions about you. Not that I told him jack shit."

  "Barbi hung up on him after telling him to mind his own damned business."

  "You did the right thing,” Hadleigh said with a frown. She glanced around the apartment, searching for tell-tale signs that Samantha had been there. Karen had been instructed to bring her straight home from pre-school, but Sam's bright purple backpack was nowhere in sight.

  Alarmed, she sat up straight. “Where's Sam?"

  "With Karen,” Barbi quickly assured her. “After that man called ... considering the possibilities, we all thought it would be best if Karen took Samantha home with her until you got back."

  "You think he'll try to kidnap her?” The very thought was ludicrous. Treet Miller wasn't above the law, and he wasn't stupid. Yet ... yet Mrs. Shoreshire had stated they were both within their rights to immediately claim their biological daughters. What if Treet decided to take Sam, then disappear into oblivion? Hadleigh knew he had the means and the money.

  Perhaps she was being naive in trusting him.

  She jumped as the phone rang. Barbi snatched it up before Hadleigh could remind her that this was her apartment. Her friends were taking their duties a little too seriously.

  "Charmaine's residence.” Eyes wide, Barbi listened for a few seconds, then covered the mouth piece with her hand and whispered loudly, “Speaking of the devil. It's him!"

  No need to ask who he was, Hadleigh mused. She took the phone from Barbi, praying her astute friend hadn't noticed her trembling hand. “Hello?"

  "Hadleigh?"

  Weakness flooded her knees at the sound of his low, sexy voice, despite her best efforts to remain unmoved. “Yes?"

  "I wanted to make sure you're all right. I'll replace your sweater—"

  "That's all right,” Hadleigh interrupted, highly aware of Barbi and Doreen listening. “It was old anyway.” A tiny silence fell between them. Then Hadleigh heard a muffled curse.

  "Look, I don't blame you for being freaked. It was my fault for thinking I could get away with it."

  "I'm fine.” And she was. Confused, wary, and emotionally drained, but otherwise fine.

  "We didn't get to talk about how we're going to approach this ... situation."

  Because we were doing other things besides talking. Hadleigh wasn't certain she would have been brave enough to voice the thought aloud if Barbi and Doreen hadn't been listening, but she was sure thinking it.

  "So I'm calling to arrange another meeting, this time some place more private."

  As if a locked, dark storeroom wasn't private. Frustrated with her audience, Hadleigh said, “Okay."

  "Okay? Just like that?” He paused a beat, then asked softly, “Are you alone?"

  "No."

  "Oh. Karen?"

  "Um, no, but close."

  "Should I call you later on tonight?"

  "That would be fine.” Hadleigh fancied she could feel Barbi's breath on her neck. And if Doreen leaned any closer, she would definitely tip over and fall into Hadleigh.

  "How about if I just come over. I'll bring my pajamas and we'll have a slumber party."

  "Very funny.” With extreme effort, Hadleigh suppressed a smile. “Later."

  The moment she hung up the phone, they pounced.

  "You're hiding something,” Barbi accused.

  "Yeah,” Doreen added, narrowing her eyes on Hadleigh's flushed face. “I thought we were your friends."

  Hadleigh faced them, arms folded across her middle, legs braced as if taking a stand. Which she suddenly felt that she was. Gently, she said, “We're not teenagers, girls. I'm perfectly capable of handling my own business and making my own decisions."

  Barbi's jaw dropped.

  Doreen snorted.

  Before either could argue, Hadleigh held up a restraining hand. “I'm not ignoring your warnings, nor your advice. But I am going to trust my instincts on this one."

  "Like you trusted your instincts about Jim?” Doreen taunted.

  "I'd like to think I'm smarter now."

  "Let's hope so.” Barbi let out a lusty sigh and threw her hands in the air. “Like you said, we're all grown women now. I just hope you know what you're doing. He's Treet Miller, for heaven's sake, Hadleigh! He probably eats little girls like you for brunch!"

  "If you ask me, you're star-struck,” Doreen inserted, arms folded in a militant stance.

  "I recall a time when both of you thought he was God's gift to women,” Hadleigh pointed out. “And I'm not star-struck."

  Doreen flushed at the reminder, but stood her ground. “That was before our best friend got involved with him. Before he became a threat."

  "He isn't a threat.” When they both remained stubbornly silent, Hadleigh let out an exasperated breath. “This isn't about me, girls. Treet is Samantha's father. If I don't give her this opportunity to get to know him, she might very well hate me for it later.” Her voice thickened with emotion. “And I have to see Caroline. Is that so wrong?"

  Doreen stared at her long and hard. "If that's what this is all about, and if that's Treet's motive as well."

  "You shouldn't believe every rumor you hear,” Hadleigh chided, then winced as she remembered that she was just as guilty.

  "And you shouldn't believe every single word that comes from that million
dollar mouth,” Doreen retorted, grabbing Barbi's arm and marching to the door. She looked indignant, a little hurt, and a lot worried. “Come on, Barbi. We can take a hint. Maybe Karen will have better luck talking some sense into her star-struck head than we did."

  Hadleigh watched her friends leave, torn between guilt and relief. Lord, she thought with a groan, if things ended badly, they would never, ever, let her live it down. She'd have to move to another country to escape the incessant ‘I-told-ya-so's.'

  * * * *

  "Caught in the witch's evil spell, Princess Aurora reached out and pressed her finger against the point of the Spindle.” Treet paused in his reading to glance at Caroline. She was fast asleep, her dark lashes resting on her rosy cheeks. With a tender smile, Treet kissed her forehead, tucked the Scooby Doo comforter more securely around her, and turned out the bedside lamp.

  He bumped into Trudy in the hall. The diminutive Korean widow flashed him a quick smile.

  "She sleeping?"

  "Yes.” Treet chuckled as he added, “And as usual she fell asleep before the ending. I'm wondering if she's ever going to know what happens to Sleeping Beauty.” He'd tried to read the book in stages, but Caroline insisted he start at the beginning every night. It didn't seem to bother Caroline, but it was driving him crazy.

  "She sweet child,” Trudy said, in her passable, broken English.

  Treet knew that Brutal spent an hour a day working with Trudy on her English. In return, Trudy did her best to satisfy Brutal's sweet tooth by baking cookies and pastries on a daily basis.

  "You go now. I watch her."

  "Thanks.” He turned in the opposite direction, toward the front door.

  "And boss?"

  Treet paused.

  "Do not worry. Whatever happens, you her, um, fadder."

  It wasn't difficult to translate fadder into father. Which meant that Brutal had told Trudy about the switch. He shook his head, reminding himself that he trusted Trudy with his daughter. Surely he could trust her to keep the news to herself.

  Outside, Brutal waited by Treet's latest indulgence—a sleek black Jaguar. The bodyguard was obviously enjoying the clear, beautiful California night, his broad face tipped upward and his full lips curved in a dreamy smile. The air was a little cool, but above them the sky spilled a blanket of diamond-bright stars across the universe, and smack in the middle hung a full moon the color of sun-bleached brick.