The Baby Track

by Barbara Boswell

  He was not just playing games, every feminine instinct she possessed informed her of that. He wanted her very, very badly. The knowledge was electrifying, so was the feel of her breasts nestled against his chest and the rhythmic throbbing of his unyielding virility. Courtney’s head spun. What if she were to let go and kiss him, just once—

  Her lips parted and his mouth lowered to hers.

  “Look out!” The sharp warning voice seemed to come from another dimension.

  Startled beyond measure, Courtney and Connor reflex-ively sprang apart. A low-flying bird, chirping madly, flew over their heads. Then another bird flew by, leaving a thick dropping that landed perilously close to where the two of them had been standing entwined.

  “Damn birds.” Kieran Kaufman joined them, glaring up at the twittering, fluttering avian pair that had perched on an overhead branch. “I never would’ve let them out if I thought they were going to go ballistic.”

  Courtney was shaking; she couldn’t seem to stop. Desire bubbled through her, hot and swift and unquenched. She glanced quickly at Connor. He was staring purposefully into the branches of the trees.

  “You let the birds out of the cages?” Connor asked Kaufman. Frustrating as the interruption had been, he was strangely grateful for it. He felt confused and off balance, a totally new experience for him and, he decided, a terrible one.

  Never had he been so stirred, so aroused, by simply holding a woman, by the mere prospect of a kiss. When Courtney had gazed up at him, acquiescence in her dark velvet eyes, her Ups parted and moist, he’d felt as if the top of his head had been blown off. Imagine what would have happened to him if he had actually kissed her.

  It was definitely time to back up and regroup his defenses. The little spitfire was a living, breathing danger zone. No woman had ever affected him so profoundly, and he was damned if he would let this one get to him. Especially not this one! She was everything he didn’t like, he reminded himself, an uptight, quarrelsome, stuck-up intellectual who considered a twit like Emery Harcourt to be the man of her dreams!

  “I opened every bird cage I saw,” Kieran confessed blithely. “I don’t think anybody’s noticed yet. When I saw that bird heading directly at you, I thought I better warn you. Sorry if I interrupted anything.”

  Courtney finally found her voice. “You didn’t,” she said quickly.

  “No,” Connor agreed, just as swiftly. “You didn’t interrupt a thing.”

  A shout sounded from beyond the trees, followed by a shriek. “Uh-oh, I think the party guests just realized that their decorations are on the loose,” said Kieran. “Definitely time to split. Hey, Connor, old pal, I know I drove us here, but can you find a ride home? I’m leaving with my hot new babe.” He smiled wolfishly. “We’re heading to my place now.” He turned and dashed through the trees.

  “I—I’d better get back to Emery,” Courtney murmured. She kept her eyes carefully averted from Connor, not daring to look at him. She simply couldn’t, not after what had just happened between them. A hot blush suffused her whole body. After the way she’d protested and threatened, to have finally succumbed to him...

  For it was no use kidding herself. She’d been lost at the end, savoring the hard feel of his body against her, hungering to feel his mouth on hers. A mortified moan escaped from her throat as she rushed blindly back to the table.

  There, to her utter incredulity, she saw Kieran Kaufman slipping his arm around the elegant, austere and forbidding Jarrell Harcourt—who was suddenly looking neither austere nor forbidding. Courtney blinked. Jarrell’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright; she looked nervous and excited and much younger than her twenty-four years.

  Courtney met Emery’s curious gaze, then they both watched Kaufman’s hand curve audaciously around the young woman’s buttocks as he led her away. Jarrell’s girlish giggle seemed to hang in the air. Jarrell Harcourt, the woman who never smiled, had actually giggled! Courtney decided her mind was truly blown.

  • “Who is that man?” Emery asked. “It was rather phenomenal watching him turn on the charm. Jarrell melted like a crayon in the sun. I’ve never seen her react like that to anyone.”

  “Charm?” Courtney echoed in disbelief. He had to be joking! She debated sharing Kaufman’s identity with Emery and decided against it. Hadn’t the poor man suffered enough tonight without having to hear that his sister had taken off with one of the sleaziest reporters in the business?

  “Emery Harcourt!” The sound of Connor’s voice, in a hearty hail-fellow-well-met tone, abruptly erased the astonishing alliance of Kaufman and Jarrell from Courtney’s thoughts. She whirled around to see Connor extending his hand to Emery to shake.

  “I’ll give you ten-to-one odds you don’t remember me,” said Connor as he pumped the hand Emery offered to him.

  Emery smiled vaguely. “I’m not a gambling man, but I’m terribly sorry, I can’t quite place you.”

  Courtney tensed. What was Connor McKay up to now? She glared at him, but he ignored her, smiling a broad smile that she knew was phony.

  “We prepped together, Emery,” Connor said easily. “But I was one of those quiet, nondescript guys who nobody ever remembers.”

  Courtney smoldered. After that pseudo-humble remark, what else could sweet, sensitive Emery say but, “Of course I remember you. But you know me, I’ve always been terrible with names.”

  “Connor McKay,” Connor supplied smoothly.

  Emery smiled and nodded. “McKay, of course! How have you been?”

  “McKay hasn’t been well at all,” Courtney inserted frostily. “In fact, he just got out of prison.”

  She placed a protective hand on Emery’s arm. He was so naive and trusting. Anyone who thought Kieran Kaufman was charming needed her protection, especially from a manipulative snake like Connor McKay. “Let’s call it a night,

  Emery,” she suggested sweetly. “I have an early appointment tomorrow.’ ’

  Emery cleared his throat. “Courtney, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get reacquainted with my old friend here.” Emery, forever the well-brought up gentleman, offered Connor a chair. “Prison, hmm? Tough break, McKay.”

  “Junk bonds,” Connor said, sitting down at the table, but not before shooting Courtney a mocking, victorious grin. “I didn’t know what my tax attorney was up to, but I took the fall. It’s been tough, all right. Former friends don’t want to give you the time of day after you’ve served time.” “There’s one thing you can count on from a Harcourt and that’s loyalty,” Emery said fervently, glancing at Courtney with silent reproof.

  “Have a seat, Courtney,” Connor invited. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to sit at a table with an ex-con. I’ll understand completely if you don’t.”

  “Don’t ever think such a thing,” finery exclaimed. “I’m quite sure Courtney joins me in welcoming you back. She is quite a fair-minded egalitarian.”

  “Harcourt’s a nice guy,” Connor admitted grudgingly fifteen minutes later as he and Courtney made their way through the ballroom, which was still in the throes of pandemonium, courtesy of Kieran Kaufman’s bird-releasing spree.

  The feathered escapees flew helter-skelter through the room, and many of the guests already had departed in panic. Courtney wished that she had been among them. Instead, she had remained at the table while Connor and Emery conversed. She was still wondering why she’d stayed, silently listening to Connor use his considerable, subtle investigating skills to ferret out the details of Emery’s life.

  What was it about Connor McKay that compelled her to go along with him, when common sense urged her to beat a hasty retreat? she wondered nervously. Instead of ejecting him from her office today, she’d allowed him to stay. In-

  stead of telling him to get lost, she’d agreed to collaborate with him. And now tonight, instead of informing Emery that he had not prepped with Connor McKay—who also wasn’t a yuppie felon—she had sat quiescently and listened in fascination as he drew information about the Harcourts with skill
s that would have done any prosecuting attorney proud. He had even weaseled a ride home!

  Still, she’d said nothing, allowing the unsuspecting Emery to go for his car, leaving her alone with Connor McKay. Three strikes and you’re out, she reminded herself, involuntarily glancing at him, taking in his sandy brown hair, still tousled from their little match under the trees, his deep green eyes, and his well-shaped, sensually compelling mouth. She swallowed, hard.

  “I can see why you two have never made it to bed, though,” Connor continued thoughtfully, his voice breaking into her troublesome reverie. “I’ve never heard a guy in love refer to his woman as a fair-minded egalitarian. Not very romantic, Gypsy.”

  “Maybe not by your standards,” Courtney retorted. Or by anyone else’s, either, she silently conceded. But then Emery wasn’t in love with her, she wasn’t his woman, and neither of them had ever pretended otherwise. Until now, with this stupid ruse she was playing at Connor’s expense. Poor Emery would be horrified at the deception. She considered telling Connor the truth about the two of them, then decided against it. The man was too smugly confident, too arrogant. He deserved to be deceived!

  A peculiar flashback of Connor telling her and Kaufman about being sold as an infant suddenly appeared before her mind’s eye. He hadn’t looked arrogant or smug then. The i bleakness in his eyes, in his tone, had touched a chord deep within her. She determinedly shook off the feeling, which had returned in full. She felt sorry for the hurt young boy he had been then, she assured herself. For the current Connor, she felt only hostility.

  They reached the spacious lobby of the club. It’s hushed, solemn atmosphere was a distinct change from the noisy melee in the ballroom.

  “But I still don’t understand it.” Connor shook his head, still pondering her alleged relationship with Emery Har-court. “You’re so damn sexy, and Harcourt seems like a normal functioning male, yet—”

  “In case it hasn’t occurred to you, my relationship with Emery is absolutely none of your business,” Courtney interrupted crossly. “And since I do not appreciate your speculations on my—”

  “Sex life?” It was Connor’s turn to interrupt and he did so, with unabashed glee. “Baby, you don’t seem to have one.”

  She knew he was teasing her, but if he only knew how on target he really was! Courtney remembered all the virginity jokes she had endured in college when she had been foolish enough to confess she’d never had a lover. Now, as the only twenty-five-year-old virgin in the United States—perhaps in all of Western civilization—she kept her status a closely guarded secret.

  “I’m sure no one has the peripatetic, athletic and feckless sex life that you undoubtedly indulge in, but what discriminating person wants to?” she snapped.

  From his expertise in the faux grove, she deduced that all too many women had experienced his compelling sexual charisma. Her lips tightened.

  “You really zinged me with that one, Gyps.” Connor laughed appreciatively. “Nice hit.”

  His good-natured laughter increased her ire. She was also offended that he was not offended by her description of his life-style. He made it quite clear that he didn’t care what she thought of him.

  “Oh, shut up and leave me alone,” she said coldly, storming across the lobby, away from him.

  Connor immediately joined her. He couldn’t keep away from her, he enjoyed needling her too much; he enjoyed the way she held her own with him.

  “I know you’re not a member of my fan club, Courtney.” His smile was more of a smirk, further escalating her blood pressure. “I’m not exactly a fan of yours, either. But since we’re going to be working together, let’s try to keep our mutual aversion under control, shall we?”

  She was working on a suitable rejoinder when his expression, his posture, his entire demeanor suddenly changed. Courtney stared at him curiously. As if by the stroke of some magic wand, the laid-back, grinning tease had vanished, replaced with a tense, rigid and remote stranger.

  “See that man coming through the archway?” he asked.

  His voice contained some indescribable note, something inexplicable that put her instantly on alert. She followed his line of vision and spied a tall, distinguished-looking man, probably in his early sixties, with well-defined features and a full head of silver hair. He was impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit that even to her untutored eye looked custom-made.

  “That’s Richard Tremaine,” Connor said in that same strange tone. “Principal stockholder and CEO of Tremaine Incorporated.”

  Courtney nodded. Who in the Washington area didn’t know of Tremaine Incorporated, a multimillion-dollar family company that owned a phenomenally successful chain of discount drugstores plus a popular chain of bookstores?

  “Tremaine Incorporated gave a big grant to NPB this year,” she told Connor. “We used it to produce a wonderful documentary on the foliage in a Central American tropical rain forest.” She waited expectantly for his sarcastic remark about the program. Amazingly enough, he didn’t make one. Could it be that he found the topic interesting?

  “I’m going to go over there and thank Mr. Tremaine personally,” Courtney decided impulsively.

  “You mean you’re going to suck up to him, hit him up for some more cash,” Connor jeered. “At least be honest with yourself and own up to your true motives, Gypsy.” His face was hard, his eyes dark and cold.

  Courtney flinched. His accusation hurt more than angered her. “I don’t have to stand here and be insulted by you,” she said tightly.

  Obviously Connor had some grudge against hardworking, achieving members of the establishment, she decided, thus his hostility toward Richard Tremaine. She frowned. Given Connor’s idiotic job—straddling private investigating and reporting but not following through in either—she shouldn’t be surprised by his resentment of conventional success.

  Well, she was a staunch admirer of it. Holding her head high, Courtney crossed the lobby and introduced herself to Richard Tremaine.

  He was kind and courtly and graciously responded to her introduction and her thanks. They chatted pleasantly about NPB and its goals, and Courtney assured herself that she was not sucking up to Mr. Tremaine, as Connor had so crudely accused. It was simply good manners to show appreciation for a gift.

  A few minutes later they were joined by a taller, younger and even more handsome version of Richard Tremaine. Courtney was introduced to his eldest son Cole, and Cole’s striking redhaired wife, Chelsea. The younger Tremaine sons, Nathaniel and l^ler, two more dark-haired Adonises, joined them shortly afterward with their dates, and once again introductions were made all around.

  “I wonder who really did open those bird cages?” lyier flashed a smile at his brothers. A smile that made Courtney stare hard at him. There was something about his smile...

  “So far I’ve heard at least fifteen different people claim credit for doing it, but I don’t believe any of them,” said Cole, affectionately lacing his fingers with his wife’s. “Not one has the nerve to jaywalk, let alone turn Hop’s birthday party into a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds. ”

  The lobby was rapidly filling with refugees from the party. The wild birds had won control of the ballroom, driving everybody else out. As the Tremaines continued jokingly to speculate on the identity of the bird liberator, Courtney decided it was definitely time to fade into the crowd. With any luck, they never would find out who the real culprit was or her unfortunate connection to him. She excused herself and slipped away.

  She looked for Connor, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was irritated to find him standing outside the club, talking to a glamorous brunette who was making a meal of him with her big, overly made-up eyes.

  “Is Emery here with the car yet?” she asked, coming to stand between Connor and Cleopatra Eyes. Both of them welcomed her with the enthusiasm of vacationers faced with a bag of medical waste washed up on shore, which inspired Courtney to make an even greater pest of herself.

  “I just had the nicest talk
with the Tremaines. They’re four of the handsomest men I’ve ever met, but the middle son, Tyler, is to-die-for,” she prattled on. She normally eschewed such slang as “to-die-for,” but she decided it worked quite nicely tonight.

  Connor’s attention immediately shifted from the brunette to Courtney. “Tyler Tremaine is way out of your league, honey,” he said tautly.

  Courtney flashed what she hoped was an enigmatic smile. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  She watched with satisfaction as he turned his back on his new chum to focus completely on her. “Did he ask you out?” he demanded.

  “Here’s Emery,” Courtney sang out and sailed down the wide stone steps.

  Connor dogged her heels. “Did he?” he demanded. His heart was pumping at an alarming speed. Tyler Tremaine— his own half-brother—and Courtney? He felt a shocking wave of fury wash over him, followed by another of pure despair. He caught her arm, just as she was about to open the car door.

  Courtney was grinning. “Did you see the way Cleopatra up there was glowering?” She didn’t bother to question why diverting his attention from the other woman should make her feel so gloriously happy. “If looks could kill, I’d be on a life-support system.”

  “Stay away from Tyler Tremaine. And from all of the Tremaines,” Connor said hoarsely. His fingers tightened on her arm.

  “Let me go!”

  “I’m serious, Courtney. You will not have anything to do with Tyler Tremaine.”

  He had watched her talking and smiling with his father, with his brothers, and the sight had shaken him profoundly. She’d looked as if she fit in with them, as if she belonged. He could imagine her discussing art with his father, who, he knew, had a sizable collection of modem paintings. He could see her chatting cozily about babies with Chelsea Tremaine, who a year ago had given birth to little Daniel Richard—the nephew he would never know, just as he’d never known his father or his brothers.

  And as he had stood there, watching her with the Tremaines, imagining all sorts of scenes that would never come true, the intensity of the feelings coursing through him had made him wonder if he were on the verge of totally losing it. He’d made it a habit not to feel, a career of keeping longing and emotion at bay. Now his internal walls seemed to be cracking and he’d rushed away in alarm.