Those Baby Blues

by Sheridon Smythe

  "I'll drive,” Treet informed Brutal, who in turn let out a loud groan of dismay. The bodyguard reluctantly folded his big body into the passenger seat, then very deliberately drew the seat belt across his massive chest and locked it.

  Treet grinned as he started the car and pulled out of the circle driveway. “Don't worry; I'm not in a reckless mood tonight."

  "Well, thank the Lord for small favors,” Brutal muttered sarcastically. “Boss, are you sure about this? I mean, if it's a woman you want, I can get you—"

  "Relax. She's Caroline's mother. I just want to get to know her ... and Samantha.” The power of the Jaguar surged through his body as Treet increased his speed on the freeway. Thanks to his resourceful bodyguard, he knew exactly where Hadleigh lived. He settled back with a sigh to enjoy the drive. What a day. And it wasn't over yet.

  "It's not you I'm worried about, boss. It's her. You know how unlucky you've been with women."

  "This one's different, and Cheyenne was a long time ago. I'd like to think I'm smarter now.” Treet took his eyes from the road long enough to cast Brutal a reassuring glance. “Stop worrying."

  "You pay me to worry,” Brutal argued. “We don't know nothing about this woman. What if she's one of those crazies?"

  "Are you forgetting she's Caroline's mother?” The dangerous edge in Treet's voice didn't frighten Brutal.

  "That don't mean she ain't crazy, boss. She gets her hooks in you she's likely to take you for a ride you won't never forget."

  The bodyguard's warming prompted a heated image of Hadleigh, naked, straddling him, luscious breasts dangling a hair's breadth from his mouth. Although Treet was fairly certain Brutal wasn't talking about that kind of ride, he smiled anyway. “Well, if she does, I'll go down happy."

  "Boss!"

  Brutal squeaked his outrage, and the tiny sound coming from such a big man made Treet laugh outright.

  "See, you're talking crazy already!"

  "Calm down, Brutal. Let nature take its course."

  "It ain't nature I'm worried about,” Brutal muttered. “It's Treet I'm worried about, and that gold-digging, devious woman you're about to go see."

  Treet sputtered over that one. “You don't know the first thing about Hadleigh Charmaine to be making those accusations, my friend."

  "And you do?"

  "No, I don't. But I'm going to find out, and I'll bet you this Jaguar that you're wrong."

  Brutal perked up at his offer. “Really?"

  "Really."

  "Hot damn!"

  Flicking his blinker on, Treet took the Forty-ninth street exit at an easy fifty miles per hour before he said, “Be realistic, Brutal. You don't really think that Miss Charmaine is the mastermind behind some elaborate plot that began over four years ago, do you? That would be more Cheyenne's style."

  "Maybe they're in this together."

  Brutal was stubborn to a fault, yet loyal as they come; Treet could see that he wasn't going to change his suspicious mind.

  They were a few blocks away before Brutal broke the silence again. “Boss, you gonna see that little girl tonight?"

  Treet downshifted and kept his smug grin to himself. Brutal's attempt to sound casual had failed; he hadn't fooled Treet. “You mean Samantha? No. She's staying with Hadleigh's friend, Karen. We haven't decided how we're going to do this yet. That's why we're meeting tonight without the girls."

  "Yeah, sure, boss. And I'm Chris Rock."

  Ignoring Brutal's insinuation, Treet said, “'Fess up, Brutal. You're as curious as I am about Samantha."

  "Me?” Brutal squeaked in mock surprise. “She takes one look at me, she'll probably run screaming for her mamma.” With a grumble, he added, “Not that her mamma will notice, because she'll be too busy working at your belt buckle—or your wallet. I just hate to see you get hurt again. I know that it don't matter now, but you were pretty upset when—"

  "Give it a rest, will ya?"

  "You're the boss."

  "Damned right I am."

  "You sign the paycheck."

  "Damned right I do."

  "Don't know why I don't just quit. You don't take my advice anyway,” Brutal grumbled.

  Brutal's one-track mind was beginning to wear on Treet's nerves. Not bothering to mask his relief, he found a parking spot across from Hadleigh's apartment building and carefully maneuvered the Jaguar between an old pickup truck and a hunter-green Dodge Intrepid that looked to be four or five years old.

  He stared at the license plates on the tail end of the Intrepid as the Jaguar's motor rumbled to a stop.

  The license plate read SAM.

  This was Hadleigh's car, he realized, with her daughter's name on the license plate. When he'd purchased the Jaguar three months ago, he'd thought about putting Caroline's name on the license plate. But in the end he'd voted for prudence; his life was not his own, it belonged to the media and his fans. So far he'd done a pretty decent job of sheltering Caroline from the often-times vicious reporters, and his over-zealous fans.

  "You check the apartment for cameras, boss. At least do that much, okay?"

  "Right,” Treet lied through his gritted teeth as he unlocked his car door.

  "And make sure she isn't taping the conversation."

  "Sure thing. I'll frisk her good and proper.” He quickly stepped out of the car, but as luck would have it, Brutal rolled the driver's window down and leaned in his direction—no small feat for a man his size.

  "Don't sign no papers, either."

  Treet checked the sarcasm just in the nick of time. “I wouldn't dream of it."

  "And if anybody recognizes you, just trigger that alarm."

  Frowning, Treet leaned into the window, certain he'd heard Brutal wrong. “What did you say?"

  "I said trigger that alarm if you need me. I'll hear it and be there in a flash."

  It had finally happened, Treet thought. Brutal had lost his flippin’ mind. "What alarm?"

  "The one in your jacket pocket, boss. The one I put there."

  "Shit. I don't believe this."

  "Caroline hears you say that—"

  "Son of a bitch."

  "Boss, you shouldn't—"

  "Damn it to hell," Treet added for good measure. He walked away from his crazy friend and bodyguard, stopped after three or four steps, and shouted back, “You need to see a shrink, my friend!"

  Brutal nearly spilled out of the car window as he leaned out to yell, “You the one that needs to see a shrink, walkin’ around like you ain't nobody! One of these days you gonna get yourself killed, and then maybe you'll believe me!"

  Very slowly—so Brutal wouldn't miss the gesture—Treet held up his middle finger. Brutal let out a string of threatening curses and opened the car door.

  Treet took off running, laughing as he skipped up the stairs to the apartment building.

  For the first time in a long time, he felt on top of the world.

  And he didn't have the slightest idea why.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  The coffee was made.

  The lights were on in every room of the apartment.

  She'd made it a point not to spray herself with her economy-size perfume as she often did out of habit throughout the day. In fact, she had also resisted the urge to brush her teeth.

  It wasn't bedtime.

  It was definitely not bedtime.

  This was Hadleigh's way of keeping the meeting formal—just in case Treet had a seduction planned. The exasperating fact that the very idea that he might made her heart pound and her mouth dry made no difference to her determination.

  Damn. She was an absolute nervous wreck.

  She checked her watch and surveyed her apartment one last time, then glanced at herself in the hall mirror. In striving to appear casual, she found herself wondering if she had gone too far by choosing the stark white, over-sized man's shirt to go with her faded jeans. Now she imagined that she looked frumpy. Rumpled. Too casual.

  Q
uickly, she fastened another button at the neck, closing the gap even further. Another one and she'd be choking.

  The doorbell pealed.

  Hadleigh put a startled hand to her throat.

  He was here. Treet was here.

  Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, she grabbed the knob and opened the door.

  And drew in a slow, deep breath. The pressure gathered in her lungs until it began to pound a rhythm in her ears.

  Treet Miller had dressed casually too, in black jeans that hugged his butt and thighs, and a black sweatshirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and muscular chest.

  Not even the colorful print of a grinning, Mickey Mouse on the front of his sweatshirt distracted from the sheer sexiness of this man.

  Samantha's father.

  Determined to keep things in perspective this time, Hadleigh waved him in with a casual hand and turned away from his intense, searching gaze. She headed for her small kitchenette. “I've made a pot of coffee.” Keep it impersonal, businesslike—

  "You've gone all serious on me."

  His perceptive observation halted Hadleigh in her tracks. She slowly faced him, bracing herself for the full force of his unsettling gaze. “This is a serious situation, Treet."

  He nodded, his eyes leaving her face to briefly skim her figure before returning.

  A reflex, Hadleigh told herself, but nevertheless she felt as if someone had sucker-punched her. Never before had a man's look affected her as this man's look did.

  "Yes, it is serious, but I feel confident we can work it out. You love Samantha, and I love Caroline. We won't allow them to be hurt."

  "No, we won't.” She couldn't doubt his sincerity; it was too obvious. Shoving her trembling hands into her jean pockets, she nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Coffee?"

  "Got anything stronger?"

  "You ... you're a drinker?” The question was out before she could stop it. Hadleigh flushed at his amused smile. “I mean, it's really none of my business—"

  "It's okay. I'm not an alcoholic, so relax."

  She felt like a fool for asking. “I don't know why I asked—if you were an alcoholic, I'd—"

  "Know,” Treet finished with only a trace of bitterness. With a sexy swagger Hadleigh recognized from his various movies, he advanced in her direction.

  Hadleigh couldn't help it; she retreated into the kitchen, obviously on the run. He was behind her; she could smell his aftershave, and hear him breathing.

  The room felt charged ... as if an electrical storm was brewing right in her apartment. Could he feel it? she wondered. Did he share it? All questions she shouldn't even be thinking, much less asking herself.

  Samantha. Caroline. She took a deep breath and reached for the mugs above the sink. Keep things in perspective. If it were any other man, she wouldn't be in this state. It was only because he was Treet Miller.

  Incredibly strong arms circled her waist. She let out a shriek and hastily plopped both mugs onto the counter. “What—what are you doing?” she demanded breathlessly.

  Without haste, he turned her around so that she faced him. He looked into her startled eyes, then slowly pulled her against him.

  "Let's just get this over with, shall we?” he whispered.

  Before Hadleigh could protest—had she the mind to—his mouth was on hers, warm and gloriously insistent. His hands moved up to frame her face, holding her captive—not that she considered struggling, oh, no—beneath the onslaught of the most pulse-pounding, earth-shattering kiss Hadleigh had ever had the fortune—or in this case, possibly misfortune—to experience.

  There was heat. A lot of it.

  Sensations. More than she could count. Red-hot desire being the biggest, most overwhelming sensation of all. It curled her toes and heated her blood.

  Yet even while she felt these feelings, and struggled against them, all Hadleigh could think about was how much this kiss would cost her. Anything that felt this wonderful had to have a price.

  She suspected the price would be pain.

  How many women pined for this man after a kiss like this? How many years did it take them to forget it? Did she truly want to be on that infinitive list? The answer was a very definite no.

  With a wrenching moan, Hadleigh broke free. She was panting, and so was he. Panting like a teenager in heat. Like someone incredibly aroused, which she couldn't deny that she was. It would be ridiculous for her to try.

  Hands shaking, she brought her fingers to her mouth and spoke between them. “This ... this isn't going to work if you keep doing that.” The smoldering look he gave her made her belly somersault as if she'd just turned a double-flip on a trampoline.

  "We're attracted to each other,” he stated huskily, as if daring her to deny it.

  Hadleigh wasn't about to embarrass herself by trying. Instead, she opted to go all out in the hopes that she would convince one of them they were making a mistake. “I'm sure a lot of women are attracted to you."

  His brief chuckle curled her toes. “Maybe. But I'm not attracted to a lot of women.” One gentle, mind-blowing finger traced her lips as he added softly, “Trust your instincts, Hadleigh. You don't strike me as the type to be influenced by fame."

  "Is that the attraction for you?” she challenged just as softly. “The fact that I'm not falling at your feet?” When he hesitated, Hadleigh felt a sharp stab of disappointment. Well, she'd wanted honesty, hadn't she?

  "I can't deny that it's refreshing to be with a woman that isn't gushing ... or falling at my feet.” His handsome lips quirked briefly as he quoted her words. “But I don't think that's the main attraction. I think you're the main attraction. You're beautiful, funny, intelligent ... and sexy. Why do you find it so hard to believe I'm interested?"

  "Because you can have any woman you want.” Hadleigh inched her way to the side until she was free of his hold. Putting distance between them was the only way she could think sanely. “We should get our priorities straight, and think about Samantha and Caroline, and what we're going to do."

  His sigh went straight to her heart, flooding it with dangerous warmth.

  "You're right, we should get things settled.” He smiled ruefully. “I seemed to get distracted when I'm around you."

  "Well, get undistracted.” She forced a briskness to her voice she was far from feeling. “I'll get the coffee, you bring the milk and sugar."

  "No doughnuts?"

  She shook her head, the tension inside her easing just a little. “No doughnuts. I've got Fruity Pebbles if you want something sweet."

  He laughed. “Caroline's favorite is frosted wheat."

  Good, Hadleigh thought, her knees nearly buckling with relief. They were back on track and out of the danger zone. If she had any sense, she would keep it that way.

  Because one very important fact was fast becoming clear to her; level-headed, responsible mother she may be, but Treet Miller was a dangerous threat to her most vital organ: her heart.

  * * * *

  Treet had always admired guts in a person, but Hadleigh's show of determination made him gnash his teeth with sheer frustration. Why did she keep pushing him away? Didn't she feel the magic between them? As he remembered her arousing response, he knew the answer to that one, at least.

  Hadleigh Charmaine was attracted to him.

  Maybe he was just moving too fast. Maybe she was right, and he didn't have his priorities straight. He did realize the situation was serious, and he did want to meet Samantha, but since he first laid eyes on Hadleigh, he'd been hooked by her cool green eyes and the burning need to get to know all of her.

  He set the cream and sugar on the table and pulled out a chair, seating himself across from Hadleigh, who looked adorably flustered and trying not to show it.

  "Patience isn't my strong point,” Treet confessed, linking his fingers in front of him to keep from drumming them on the table. She flashed him a glance from beneath her lashes, and Treet thought he saw that ghost of a smile again. It was pure, shy temptati
on; he clenched his thighs in response.

  The woman didn't know her own power ... or did she?

  "I noticed.” She added a touch of cream to her coffee, avoiding his gaze as she stirred the caramel-colored liquid. Finally she put the spoon down and stared at him. “I'm not being coy, Treet. Just cautious. Whether you want to realize it or not, we are from different planets. Aside from this irrefutable fact, we have no business making things messy."

  "What if they don't get messy?"

  "What if they do?” she countered swiftly. “I don't want Samantha hurt, and if we get involved and it ends badly, then she'll get hurt. Caroline will, too. We owe it to them to do this right ... if we do it at all."

  Treet stiffened, although outwardly he appeared relaxed. “Having second thoughts about Mrs. Shoreshire's advice?” Her hesitation hurt more than he cared to admit.

  "I'm just worried about us. You're very ... persuasive."

  A flush darkened her delicate cheek bones, and once again Treet lost her gaze as she focused it on the untouched coffee in front of her, obviously embarrassed.

  "You think I'm a womanizer,” he stated.

  Her brow rose. She looked up quickly, then down again. “That's just it. I don't know what you are. All I know is what I read about."

  "Then get to know me. Wouldn't that be the fair thing to do?"

  "I don't know if I can forget who you are long enough to get to know what you are,” she confessed in a low voice. “So I think it would be better—"

  "You mean safer, don't you?” Treet taunted softly.

  She ignored him. “It would be better if we started over, I think, as friends. I also think we should keep it that way."

  It helped that she sounded disappointed. A little. “Okay. I'll give it my best shot.” He nearly laughed at her surprised expression as he offered his hand across the table. It was obvious that she hadn't expected such an easy capitulation. “Here's to friendship in the name of Caroline and Samantha.” Gingerly, she slipped her hand in his.

  Treet promptly pulled it to his mouth and slowly began kissing the tips of her fingers. She yanked her hand away.