And admitting to that, even if only silently, gave him a hard jolt.
“Oh, my God!” Lisa Jackson’s voice came over the phone line so loudly that Annie jerked the receiver away from her ear. Unfortunately, not quickly enough. She winced as Lisa continued. “John delivered the baby? In a blizzard?”
“Actually,” Annie said wryly, “we were in the cabin. The blizzard was outside.”
“Cute, girlfriend. Real cute.”
Annie looked across the room at John where he sat on the couch, holding the baby and talking to her as if she really understood him. Something soft and warm wrapped itself around her heart, and a melting sensation pooled in her knees. So she sat down.
“Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine,” she told her best friend, smiling. “Jordan’s beautiful, and it finally stopped snowing. We may actually be able to drive down off the mountain by tomorrow or the next day.”
If, she thought, the snowplow people were as efficient as the telephone company. They’d had the lines repaired almost as soon as the snow had stopped. And the minute the phone was working again, Lisa had called. She’d probably been dialing nonstop for the past couple of days.
“How are you getting along with John?” Lisa asked, and Annie’s attention snapped back to the conversation.
Hmm…she had to answer that question carefully, since John could hear every word she said.
“Fine,” she said, and knew that wasn’t nearly what she wanted to say.
She’d like to tell Lisa that John Paretti was kind and tender and funny and sweet and strong. She wanted to say that he made her go weak in the knees. That her heartbeat staggered whenever he smiled at her. She wanted to tell her friend how Jordan responded to the man and how good he was with the baby.
But if she did say all of that out loud, it would make it real. So it was just as well, she thought, that she couldn’t say any of it.
“Oh, yeah,” Lisa said, “’fine’ sounds like a good time.”
John looked over at her and grinned. Annie’s heartbeat thundered in her chest. Fine with one man could be better than terrific with another one.
“Fine’s not bad,” she said.
“Oh, God,” Lisa muttered. “I can hear the sigh in your voice.”
“No, you can’t,” she argued, though even she noticed she wasn’t denying the fact that the sigh was there.
“Listen, honey, John’s a great guy, but—”
“But?”
“It’s just that you’re not his type.”
Well that stung. “Is that right?”
“Now, don’t go getting all offended on me.”
“Did I say I was?”
“No, but I heard it, anyway.”
“Is there a problem?” John asked from across the room.
“No problem,” Annie told him. “Lisa’s just having a psychic moment.”
“Great,” he said, “ask her what we’re having for dinner.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” Lisa said, obviously having heard John for herself. “Look, honey, you plus baby equals family. And that’s not something John Paretti’s looking for.”
Not that she was interested or anything but, “And you know this how?”
“Peter and John are good friends, and Peter’s always telling me about John’s way with women….” She paused for a long moment and chuckled as she said, “I think Peter’s living vicariously through John.”
“Swell,” Annie said, glancing at the man whose gorgeous face was highlighted by the flickering light and shadow cast by the dancing flames in the hearth.
A way with women, huh? Well, should she pause here to be surprised? Hardly. A man that good-looking, that…male, would hardly be living the life of a monk. Still, it hurt more than a little to think that his slow, easy smile was probably just a well-practiced routine. Which told her that, despite her best intentions, she’d already formed a sort of attachment to John. Perfectly natural, she told herself, while Lisa kept talking. After all, women falling in love with their doctor—or the man who delivered their babies—was practically a cliché.
“Are you okay, honey?” Lisa asked, and this time her voice, filled with concern, reached past Annie’s preoccupation.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m great.” Okay, not great, but she really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “And I’ll call you when I get home, okay?”
“Sure, Annie. And you know, I’m sorry if I burst your bubble or something.”
“You didn’t,” she said, determined to convince both herself and Lisa.
“If you’re sure…”
“I am.”
“Okay, then, I’ll see you when you get home.”
She said goodbye and hung up, letting her fingers trail along the back of the receiver.
“Bad news?” John asked.
Annie turned to look at him and couldn’t stop the nearly automatic tripping of her heart. Good Lord, she could be in some serious trouble here if she didn’t get a grip on reality.
“No,” she said firmly, and pushed herself to her feet. “Nothing’s wrong. Lisa’s just worried about me.”
“Lisa’s a born worrier.”
“Yeah, she is. But she means well.” Just as she’d meant well telling Annie to not start mooning over John Paretti. It wasn’t her fault the warning had come too late.
John frowned slightly as he studied her, and she wondered what he was thinking even while she told herself it really didn’t matter. She didn’t need to understand him. Didn’t need to know that he was a ladies’ man. Didn’t need to idly daydream or to speculate as to just what his kiss would be like.
These few days in the cabin were nothing more than stolen time. Snatched from the everyday world, they’d both been thrown into an unusual situation that would be ending all too soon.
When it ended, they’d go back to their own lives. And in reality, John Paretti would never look at her twice. Not that she would be looking, either. Of course not. She didn’t need anyone else now.
She had Jordan.
And together the two of them were the only family they’d ever need.
Six
“What’re you working on?” John came up behind her and looked over her shoulder.
Never taking her gaze from the screen, Annie said, “A new Web site for a prospective client.”
Her fingers flew over the keys, and occasionally she tapped the mouse and colors streamed across the laptop screen. Then she’d mutter, chew at her bottom lip and start all over again. And he was becoming way too fond of watching her chew that lip of hers. In fact, he was dangerously close to offering to chew it for her.
Reining his hormones in, he told himself to get a grip and asked, “Why’d you delete that?” as he pulled a chair up and sank onto it. “It looked good.” Not that he knew much about storks carrying babies, but it looked pretty good to him.
Now she did glance at him. “Good but not great.” She sighed and added, “And I need great.”
Night crouched outside at the window, but inside the cabin, warmth and light surrounded them. The baby was asleep in the next room, and Annie’d been ignoring him for too long. So, since she seemed determined to work, John had decided to help. Or at least bug her enough that she’d talk to him.
Pitiful, Paretti, he told himself. Simply pitiful. But, hey, could he help it if she was just so damned attractive? It’s not as though he was trying to get turned on. It just sort of happened. Anytime she came into a room, God help him. He inhaled the pure, soft scent of soap and water and told himself he’d never again be able to take a shower without thinking of how that soap smelled on her skin. Oh, he was in deep trouble here and sinking too fast to yell for help.
If he’d wanted help…which he was pretty sure he didn’t.
“What’s so special about this client?” he asked, determined to keep his mind off showers and wet bodies and tangled limbs and—damn it.
“Oh, let’s see.” She tapped one finger against he
r chin as if she was having to give that question some real thought. Then she looked at him. “Only that if I can land this account, it could make my business.”
He glanced at the screen. “Tidy Didy Diaper Service? This is a make-or-break thing?”
“Hey,” she told him, “it’s a big company. If they hire me to update their site and maintain it for them, not only is it a personal and professional coup, the money will make my checkbook look way less pathetic.”
Okay, now he felt guilty. Here he was thinking only of getting her into bed, and she was actually thinking of her future. He shouldn’t be taking shots at what looked like a silly company, when it clearly meant everything to Annie. As a single mother, of course she’d be interested in doing whatever it took to grow her company and her bank account. Determination glittered in her eyes, and he thought he saw just a shadow of fear there, too. A fear that she wouldn’t succeed. That she might let down the baby who was so dependent on her. And his insides twisted. She shouldn’t be having to do this alone. That ex-boyfriend of hers should be doing his share, too. And like an idiot, he said so.
“Why don’t you make Jordan’s father pay child support at least?”
She went perfectly still. And after a long, slow moment or two, she swiveled her head to look at him. Those deep-blue eyes of hers looked hard as marbles. “I don’t want anything from him. I don’t need anything from him.”
“What about what Jordan needs?” he asked before he could think better of it.
She damn near flinched at the unspoken accusation, and an arrow of shame shot right through his heart. “I’m her mother. I’ll give her what she needs.”
“By working yourself to death for it?”
A short, sharp laugh shot from her throat. “To death? I’m sitting here in my robe at a kitchen table, tapping on some keys. For the first time in days, I might add.”
Okay fine, so this was the first time he’d seen her actually working. But for God’s sake. She just had a baby. “Yeah, well,” he said pointedly, “you’ve been fairly busy.”
“True. And now I’m working. So if you don’t mind…” She turned around again and concentrated on the screen and the flickering logo of a weirdly dancing diaper she’d just created.
“You know…” he said as he watched the screen from over her shoulder.
“What?” Irritation colored that one word and a smarter man might have backed off. But he’d been raised in an Italian household, where shouting came as easily as hugging. A good fight or two never hurt anything.
“Maybe it would be better to have a dancing baby instead of a diaper?”
She slid him a glance. “He’s not selling babies. He’s selling diapers.”
“True, but babies wear them.”
“Yes, but—”
“That empty diaper just looks too weird. Like there’s an invisible baby or something.” He gave a mock shudder.
“I thought you were a Marine, not an advertising executive.”
“Hey,” he said, leaning his forearm on the back of her chair, “I’m a consumer.”
“Of diapers?”
“It was just a suggestion.” Why did she have to smell so damn good? Lifting one hand, he took a piece of her hair between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it gently. It felt like silk, all clean and soft and shining. And he wondered what in the hell she’d say if she knew he was just enjoying the feel of her hair against his skin. At that thought, he moved his hand and sat back, deliberately keeping a bit more distance between them. Not enough distance, he told himself, but silently admitted that to feel safe right now, he’d have to be in California with her in Rhode Island, and that wasn’t likely.
“A baby, huh?” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
“Why not?”
“Worth a try,” she said and hit a few more keys. When nothing happened, she muttered an oath, hissed at the computer and slumped back in her chair, arms folded across her chest.
“Problem?”
“This stupid computer just isn’t fast enough.”
“Why use it then?” he asked as his gaze automatically went to the bottom lefthand corner of the screen’s frame, searching for the computer’s brand name. When he saw it, he winced.
“Because it’s the best,” she grumbled, and sat up to poke at a couple more keys.
“The best, huh? But not fast enough?”
“Nope.” She tossed him a glance, then went back to the keyboard, her fingers flying like a concert pianist at Carnegie Hall. “Still, the P3 has better graphics, easier menus and a bigger memory than most of its class.”
“Is that right?” John asked, smiling to himself.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, tapping and clicking and humming to herself. “With a little more work and a bit more imagination, the P3 could take over the lion’s share of the personal computer industry.”
“Really?” Oh, he was enjoying this.
“It’s a relatively small company right now,” she was saying. “Family held. What they need is to expand. Get some fresh blood in there.”
“Younger blood, you mean.”
“Not necessarily, though from what I hear, the old man who founded the company doesn’t take kindly to change.”
“How do you know so much about it?” he wondered aloud.
“I read the business section of the paper,” she said. “Come on, sweetheart,” she cooed to the computer, “one little baby, that’s all I’m asking. Anyway,” she went on talking as she worked, “apparently the old man wants his sons to take over, but they’re not interested, and right now, he’s trying to protect himself from a takeover. Though why his sons aren’t interested is beyond me.”
“Actually, that’s the easy part,” John told her. “None of us wants to leave the Corps for a desk job peddling computers.”
Annie’s fingers stopped dead on the keyboard, her right index finger poised over the letter h. “Us,” he’d said. None of us. P3. Paretti Computer Corporation. John Paretti.
Oh, good God.
Slowly she turned around to look at him, hoping she was wrong. But one look into his pale-blue eyes, dancing with suppressed humor, told her she wasn’t.
“You’re one of those Parettis?” she asked unnecessarily.
“Yep. Surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Sorry about that.”
He didn’t look sorry. “You could have said something.”
“I don’t usually open up conversations by saying, ‘I’m John Paretti, of the computer Paretti’s.’”
“Okay, fine,” she said, willing to give him that much. “But once I started complaining about the stupid thing, you could have said something.”
“Why? I don’t make ‘em.”
“Your father does.”
“Don’t I know it. And he’s pretty much just how you described him, too. Hardheaded. Wants his own way. Doesn’t like change. Wants his sons to come into the company and take it over. Fighting off bigger names who want to swallow the company.”
“And this doesn’t interest you?” Complete bafflement colored her tone. She heard it herself. But how could she help it? What kind of person didn’t want to be involved in the family business? Especially this business?
He frowned slightly. “Not until recently.”
“What changed?”
John pushed up from the chair, walked across the small kitchen floor to the counter and turned around, leaning his backside against it. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at her, and Annie tried not to notice how well that green sweater fit him. Or just how long his legs looked, encased in those worn jeans of his. Heck, if he’d been wearing cowboy boots instead of tennis shoes, she might have climaxed just looking at him.
Whoops! Where had that come from?
Then he started talking, and she told herself to concentrate on his voice and his words.
“My dad’s getting older. Although—” he paused and sighed “—I can’t see him ever retiring
. The point is, he needs us. Or at least one of us.”
He didn’t sound very happy about that at all. “And I’m guessing that you’re considering throwing yourself on the sacrificial altar?”
He winced slightly and shook his head. “Okay, it might not be that bad, but still…”
“That bad?” Annie got up, too, and walked closer to him. Not too close, mind you. But close enough. “How can you not be interested in building that company? P3 is the best new computer to have come out in years.”
“So Dad’s always telling us,” he said wryly.
“He’s right,” she said quickly.
“Excuse me,” he told her, “weren’t you just cussing at it a minute ago?”
She waved that aside. Everyone cursed at machinery. Technology was the devil. Still, it beat the heck out of chipping messages into a stone tablet with a hammer and drill. “Yes, but I didn’t mean it. And your father built this company himself?”
“Yep,” John said and let his head fall back. Staring at the ceiling, he went on. “Worked nights and weekends until he had it perfected. Then got a loan to start up the business, then left the Corps to run it. Now he wants us to leave the Corps to take over for him.”
“And you don’t want to.”
“Hell, none of us wants to,” John said. “This company isn’t our dream. It’s Dad’s. We like being Marines.”
“But it’s your family business. How can you not want to be a part of it?”
He tilted his head to one side, studied her for a long moment, then asked, “And are you just busting to get into Daddy’s archaeological digs?”
Direct hit. “No, but that’s not really the same thing, is it?”
“Why?” he countered. “Because archaeology doesn’t interest you.”
“Exactly.”
“Yeah, well,” he told her flatly, “computers don’t interest me.”
“To each his own, I guess,” she said, though she really couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to be in on the ground floor of something as exciting as the computer industry. After all, the future was in technology, whether people liked it or not.
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