For Their Baby

She hadn’t ever been able to master French, though she’d tried ever since her father’s death, hoping it would bring his memory closer. She wished her accent weren’t so awful. She might say that to David Gerard now.

Deux âmes perdues. Two lost souls.

Did it have to be more complicated than that? Just this once, couldn’t something be simple and sweet? He wanted her, and she wanted him, too. She wanted to make love to him. Right now. Tonight.

He was leaving tomorrow, she remembered suddenly.

A man who was leaving tomorrow was perfect. A night in his bed wouldn’t complicate anything, really. She would break this cycle of loneliness by sleeping with this lovely man, and maybe she’d wake up tomorrow lighter, easier in her own skin.

She felt the anger and bewilderment lift from her, like the sky lifting as the sun came up. Maybe her subconscious mind had guided her feet tonight, as she ran away from the bar. Maybe destiny had directed her here. Maybe it was fate.

The word startled her. Ordinarily, she didn’t believe in fate. Her mother did, and used that convenient imaginary entity to rationalize all kinds of self-destructive behavior. But, even though Kitty was a committed cynic, she couldn’t ignore this powerful feeling.

Look at the two of them, sitting on the sofa with sparks of lust going off like invisible fireworks. Two lonely people, two sets of painful memories that had reached an unbearable climax today. Each facing a long, miserable night of trying to forget.

She touched his upturned palm with her fingertips. His eyes darkened slightly, and a flash of electricity shimmered under her fingers, but otherwise he didn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” he said politely. “I didn’t mean to whine on about my problems. I must sound like an idiot.”

“No, you don’t.” She held his gaze and kept her fingers against his palm. “You sound like someone who doesn’t want to be alone tonight.”

He started to say something, then stopped. He closed his fingers around hers and shook his head. “No, don’t. This isn’t right. I didn’t… I promise you, I wasn’t looking for this. I didn’t follow you onto the beach hoping that—”

“I know you didn’t.” With her other hand, she reached out and touched his cheek. She had to lean over to do it. “Does that mean you don’t want it? Because I do. A lot.”

“I—” He frowned. “Wanting is…I don’t want to take advantage… It would be—”

“It would be lovely,” she said.

“Yes.” He closed his eyes, still frowning. “But—”

“Isn’t that enough? It doesn’t have to be complicated. You’re just a man, and I’m just a woman, and we’re hurting. But we can help each other tonight.”

“Listen.” His eyes fell to her name tag. “Kitty. You’re right. It’s a bad time for me, and I came to the Bahamas thinking maybe I could just—” He broke off and ran his free hand through his hair. “But now, with the way you’re feeling tonight, if I take—”

“You’re not taking from me any more than I would be taking from you. I want you, and I think you want me. There’s…something. You feel it, don’t you?” She took his hand and guided it to her breast, where her heart thudded with hunger. “Don’t you?”

She felt the heat of his palm through the cheap polyester of her uniform. He scanned her face with somber eyes. He took a long breath that seemed to catch on something as it entered his lungs.

“Of course I do,” he said. He grazed her cheek with one knuckle, and then, slowly, he bent his head down and whispered against her neck, “Yes. Of course I do.”

His breath was warm and sweet, and went through her like a honeyed summer breeze. She began to shiver as he dragged his mouth up her throat, and goose bumps cascaded down her body, all the way to her toes.

She had wondered whether, in the end, she would change her mind and back away, as she had done so often, but his sudden human warmth was blissful. Easy and, at the same time, thrilling. She groaned in hungry relief, and pressed her body closer, as close as she could get.

Take that, Jim Oliphant. She wasn’t ruined. She was still a woman, and she could still catch fire from a man’s touch. It just had to be the right man. The right touch.

David seemed to understand that she didn’t want him to waste time with a gentle seduction. She didn’t want to change her mind. He lowered his mouth over hers and took her parted lips. His kiss was fierce, and the inside of his mouth was hot and sweet.

She heard herself moan, and for just a flash she wondered…what was he going to think of her? They’d just met, and—

But she didn’t care. Tomorrow he’d disappear back into his real life, and she’d never see him again. He wasn’t David Gerard, and she wasn’t Kitty Hemmings. They were simply bodies, doing what healthy, hungry men and women did.

His hands slid across her back, down to her hips and up again, into her hair, and everything he touched tingled—her scalp, her ears, her spine, her arms.

She felt a sudden wetness under her eyes, but it wasn’t tears this time. She’d been frozen, and now she was melting. The ice water was seeping out, overflowing. She felt it around her heart, too, and between her legs.

She reached between their bodies and touched him, hoping she could urge him to hurry. She was ready. She’d been ready for years.

He was ready, too—she could feel how ready. But though she stroked that exciting, swollen warmth and traced the strong contours with her fingertips until she could hardly breathe, he never lost his focus.

His lips were still doing fiery things to her collarbone, even while his fingers found the metal pull to the zipper that ran down the front of her dress. Her stupid, too-tight, too-short bartender’s costume.

As the fabric peeled open, David bent his head further, kissing each new inch of exposed skin. The moonlight glistened on his dark blond hair, as if he’d been dusted with glitter.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and arched toward him. Oh, she wanted this so much. It might be midnight outside, but as he slipped the dress from her shoulders she felt suddenly full of sunshine. Her nerve endings sizzled, just like the ocean on a bright summer afternoon.

She reached out, tugging at his button, and he smiled. He shed his clothes quickly, without a trace of self-consciousness.

And why should he be self-conscious? He was amazing. She shut her eyes against the overwhelming beauty of him, and the power. He made every other man on the island look like a child.

Gently, he eased her back against the cool leather. They both knew that his bed was too far away, but it didn’t matter. Only the moon watched through the picture window, and the palms shifted in the breeze, throwing shadows across their bodies.

He got up long enough to find a condom, and soon, so soon, the moment had arrived. She tried not to think about it. She tried just to feel, and to let it flow through her.

His body was hard, intimidating in its primitive strength, but he was sensitive and gentle, and besides, in spite of the fear, her body ached for him. Those silver flashes exploded everywhere now, and her core was tugging toward him.

She felt him, so wondrously rigid and velvety at the same time, pressing against that tingling spot between her legs. Her lungs tightened. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She tried to find enough air to breathe.

He kissed her again, his tongue driving that spiced sweetness into her mouth, and she inhaled sharply. And then she let her knees fall apart to welcome him.

After that, for a very long time, nothing seemed quite linear or logical. She was all body, all sensation, with no brain to interfere. She was all aching and pushing, panting and exploring.

Finally, even the body was unnecessary. He had, with his amazing hands and his clever lips, unwound the spiraled fortress of that outer shell and found the vulnerable truth inside. She was sunshine and starlight and invisible currents that were ready to carry her to places she’d never been.

But at the very end, in that point-of-no-return moment before the currents took her away, like a fool she opened her eyes.

And David Gerard’s strong face was above her, gleaming with the sweat of their lovemaking. And so, as she twisted away into the most shattering climax she’d ever experienced, she was looking into his eyes. And God help her, he wasn’t just a man. He was this man. Âme perdue.

She wasn’t going to be able to forget him now.

DAVID WOKE in the purple hour before dawn, and he sensed immediately that he was alone.

He lifted up just enough to squint toward where her clothes had fallen. Nothing. The carpet was bare. His sweet, mysterious lover—he knew only that the name on her badge had been Kitty—was gone.

He fell back onto the couch, irrationally disappointed. Had he really expected her to stay all night? What, in fact, had he expected from any of this?

He sleepily relived the strange events that had led to…

To this.

If anyone had told him that he’d mark Belle Carson’s wedding day by picking up a tough-talking, green-haired bartender whose badass attitude barely covered up the fact that she was really a little girl lost, he’d have laughed in their faces.

If anyone had told him that the bartender would make crazy love with him until he collapsed and passed out stark naked on his own couch, he would have said they were crazy.

And if anyone had dared to suggest that, when he woke up, he’d still be hard as a rock and hungry for more, he’d…

But he was. He was exhausted, and yet he was fully aroused, still on fire, as if she’d cast a spell on him. Why the hell had she left? He wondered if the hotel would give him her room number. If he could stand the pain of putting on pants, maybe he could go and…

He laughed at himself. He couldn’t even walk right now, much less go out in public.

Could he find her before he’d have to leave for the airport? His plane was at two, which gave him…

Not long enough.

Not nearly long enough.

How much would it cost him to change his flight? He rolled on to his side and groaned as the cool leather pressed against the sensitive places.

He didn’t care if it was a thousand dollars. There was something about his little green-haired Kitty with no last name. Something clever and sexy…and something else, too. A haunting quality he couldn’t put a name to.

He remembered the look in her eyes as she made love to him. She’d been frightened, and at the same time so alive, so in love with the feeling. He could almost hear her whimper, and feel her pulsing helplessly around him. He groaned again. Oh, yeah. Once with that woman was definitely not enough.

And then, suddenly, as if his hunger had summoned her up, he felt the cushions bend, and he felt her warmth slide onto the sofa behind him. He felt her breasts press into his back as she spooned up against him. He sighed with pleasure, and more than a little relief.

She reached around and pressed her hands against his chest.

“Ahhh,” she said. She nipped his shoulder, purring in a delighted murmur.

Slowly, she began to slide her palms up and down, from collarbone to hips. For a moment, he shut his eyes and let the bliss wash over him.

“Kitty,” he said softly. He stilled her hands just below his rib cage, but he felt his control slipping.

“No,” a strange voice said, breaking the moment as brutally as a hammer shattering a mirror. “But obviously Kitty wasn’t exaggerating about you.”

He turned sharply, and faced a voluptuous brunette, dressed in the same bartender’s uniform that Kitty had worn. But different, so different…such dark, almond-shaped eyes over full, hungry lips.

“Kitty said you were a carnival ride like no other.” The woman licked the skin on his shoulder. “And now I see it’s true.”

It was the other bartender. Jill. He’d seen her a dozen times, pulling drafts and raking in big tips. She’d flirted with him, night after night, as she did with every male customer she encountered.

But what the hell was she doing here, on this sofa? And what did she mean, “Kitty said…”?

He sat up, grabbing her shoulders and moving her out of the way as he might have moved a child who had become a pest.

She chuckled softly, clearly undaunted, and reached out to smooth his tousled hair.

“Don’t you remember me, sweetheart? I’m Jill. Kitty said to say she’s sorry. She had to go, but she sent me to see if you needed anything…” Her eyes slid down. “Anything else.”

CHAPTER TWO

Eight weeks later

BY THE TIME the Brantley deposition was over, David Gerard couldn’t see anything but January’s darkness outside his law office window, and he was tired. Not just go-to-bed-early tired. The kind of disgusted bone-weariness that made people burn their houses, move to Costa Rica and spend the rest of their lives drinking piña coladas out of conch shells.

Unfortunately, he’d promised to take Marta Digiorno, a friend who also happened to be an attorney, out to dinner. They’d been circling the idea of dating for the past few weeks, though he wasn’t crazy about mixing the courthouse with pleasure. Tonight would be a trial balloon. Not quite a date, but not completely business, either.

“Do you think Barker and King will settle?” Marta stuffed file folders into the pocket of her briefcase, then sat on the edge of his desk and smiled. Amazingly, she didn’t look an iota less crisp and professional than she had at eight this morning, when they’d passed in the hall, each heading into the courthouse to take separate depositions.

She had a good legal mind, and David answered the question honestly. The chauvinistic weasels at Barker and King, Inc., had clearly discriminated against his client, a former employee who had been let go because she got pregnant.

“They should settle,” he said. “But they might not. They know the case is pro bono. They might think they can stonewall until we get tired of paying out of our own pockets.”

“Watch your pronouns,” she said, cocking one graceful eyebrow. “I’m not representing anyone for free. You’re the bleeding heart around here. So, any chance your heart feels sorry enough for a fellow lawyer to rub her tired feet?”

She kicked off her high heels and rested her left foot on his thigh.

Okay, that certainly shifted the evening squarely into the personal column. He hesitated, then decided he was being a fool. It had been two months since he’d had a date. Longer, really, because that Bahamas madness didn’t really qualify as a date.

Still…eight weeks since his vacation, when for the first time in his boring, Mr. Nice Guy life, he’d been propositioned by two women in one night. Not his usual style, not by a long shot. And sadly, not as exciting as people might think. Kind of foolish, actually, and, in the end, oddly depressing. Another prepubescent dream busted.

Anyhow, the green-haired bartender and her trashy friend, whom he’d tossed out of the cottage in about ten seconds without wasting much time on tact, were history. Belle Carson, who had been happily married eight weeks now, too, was also history.

Marta was smart, classy, witty and obviously interested. And she was here. So what was he waiting for?

Nothing. He nestled her heel in one hand and began flexing her long, slim toes with the other.

She leaned back, palms down on his desk, and let her eyes drift shut. “Mmm,” she said in a low purr. “Nice.”

A sudden commotion in the outer office stilled his hands. He glanced toward the closed door, not alarmed but curious. It was at least eight o’clock. He didn’t have any appointments tonight.

That is what his paralegal, Amanda, was clearly trying to tell someone. A woman, from the sound of it. A woman who was refusing to take no for an answer.

Within two seconds, his door flung open. A young female with crazy green curls stormed in, her eyes fiery and her head pushed forward, like a determined goose. Behind her, Amanda stood helplessly, hands up in defeat. “Miss—Miss, I told you Mr. Gerard is unavailable and—”

The young woman scowled over her shoulder at the paralegal. “And I told you I don’t care. What is it with you people? He’s not the president, for God’s sake!” Then she turned toward David, and he saw her face harden as she took in Marta lounging on the desk, her jacket on the chair, her foot cradled in David’s hands.

“Oh,” the newcomer said. “That kind of unavailable.”

David’s mind wasn’t working fast enough. He knew what he saw, or what he thought he saw, but it was so impossible his brain wouldn’t accept it. The hair was green, just like before. And the eyes…

He knew those eyes. And yet, how could it be? It couldn’t. It couldn’t be—

He’d called her “the green-haired bartender” in his mind so long he couldn’t, for a minute, remember her name.

Marta had already moved her foot and let her legs slide down, so he stood.

“Miss…” He took a breath. “Katie?”

But the instant he said it, he knew it was wrong. Not Katie. Kitty. Of course it was Kitty. In his mind, he could still see the white rectangle of her name tag, moving up and down as she panted…

What on earth was she doing here?

Her eyes narrowed. “Close,” she said icily. “Partial credit. It’s Kitty. Kitty Hemmings. You look surprised to see me. I guess this means none of your bodyguards called to give you a heads-up.”

“My what?”

“Your bodyguards. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all afternoon. But your receptionist, she’s not that friendly, is she? Neither is your housekeeper, for the record.”

She’d been to his house? Of course Bettina, who was a terrible snob, would have been rude to a visitor with green hair and…whatever that geometrically patterned green and pink sarong-like thing was supposed to be. Bettina was rude to him if he wore sweats or brought home fast food.

How had Kitty found his house? He hadn’t known her last name, and he wouldn’t have thought she knew his. In the end, though, how she’d found him was relatively unimportant. Relative, that is, to the real sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

Why had she found him?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Marta had slipped on her shoes, and she’d put on her game face, too. As he’d just been observing, Marta was smart as hell. She clearly knew something wasn’t right about this scene.

Half a dozen explanations raced through his head. Could Kitty need a job, a recommendation, a lawyer? Surely not. People didn’t expect their one-night stands to give them career references. His shoulder muscles tightened. Crap—had he picked up a stalker?

Or was she bringing bad news? An STD? He always, always used condoms. Blackmail? God help him, she wasn’t underage, was she? She looked mid-twenties, but you never knew these days. He’d assumed the bar wouldn’t employ anyone…

But assumptions could be lethal. Any good lawyer knew that.

“Of course. Kitty.” Years of poker-faced negotiations saved him from revealing the chill that ran through his veins. “How can I help you?”

It sounded stilted, almost rude. He saw her recoil slightly. But what the hell had she expected? Whatever he’d briefly, brainlessly, believed might be going on between them that night—he’d been wrong. He’d just been her flavor du jour, a tourist novelty to be shared with her horny girlfriends. Fine. He was a grown man. No one had held a gun to his head. No big deal.

But with that kind of cheap treat, no one came back for seconds.

“How can I help you?” he repeated. He didn’t change his tone.

“We need to talk,” she said flatly. Her gaze slid to Marta. “Alone.”

The other lawyer didn’t budge.

He touched Marta’s shoulder. “The reservations are for eight-thirty. If you go ahead now, we won’t lose the table. I’m sure this won’t take long. I can meet you at the restaurant.”

A frown line bisected Marta’s perfect, pale forehead. “David, it might be better if—”

“It’s fine.” He smiled. He hoped he was right. “I’ll meet you there.”

Marta nodded, though she didn’t look convinced. The room rang with silence as she gathered up her briefcase and her coat. She moved to the door, then turned.

She looked at David. “I’ll mention to security that you’re still in the office.”

“Oh, brother.” Kitty dropped her purse on the desk and crossed her arms. “He’s twice my size, and I’m not packing heat.” She glared at David. “But if you’re afraid to be alone with me, I’d be happy to have a group discussion. Invite security. Hey, invite everybody. The alone part was for your benefit, not mine.”

“It’s fine,” he said again, giving Marta a straight look. “Really.”

Marta knew he meant it. She slipped through the door, shutting it behind her.

And then he and Kitty were alone. With Marta gone, he was much more aware of her, of her deep, island tan and a scent with a hint of strawberry. For a minute, he could smell that little beachside bar again. Salt in the air, lemons and limes and kiwi fruit, an undercurrent of barbeque smoke.

She glanced around, and her frown deepened. “Nice office,” she said cryptically.

Did that mean she was surprised? By what? How dull it was? By the decorator-chosen beiges, the bland paintings that even Belle, who was ten times as conservative as Kitty, had hated? Had he seemed more interesting in the Bahamas?

Or was she surprised by how luxurious it was? Half his clients were pro bono, but the other half required impressing. So the decorator had hauled in solid mahogany paneling, carpet like velvet air, a marble bust of Thomas Jefferson for the corner. If Kitty had come for blackmail, this probably looked like the jackpot.

But something in him couldn’t believe that. What blackmail could possibly stick? He wasn’t married, and the sex had been consensual. Even if she’d caught the whole thing on tape, up to and including the second offer from her friend, he’d be nothing worse than embarrassed. Lunches at the University Club would be awkward for a while, with everyone asking why he’d turned down Lady Number Two, but he’d survive.

He watched Kitty as she roamed the room, proving it didn’t intimidate her. She even gave Jefferson an affectionate tap on the nose. But the gesture didn’t ring true. Her body looked tight, as if she were nervous, but hell-bent on hiding it. He wondered how rude Bettina had actually been. Or Amanda. Both women had maternal streaks where he was concerned.

He felt like a blind man playing a game of chess, aware of all the possible strategies, but unable to see the full board. He had no idea what her ultimate gambit was. Surely a polite neutrality was the best first move. No need to assume the worst.

“Would you like to sit down?”

Kitty turned. Her green eyes were bright, sparkling under the overhead fixture. Anger? Or tears?

“No. Thank you.” A hint of a smile played at her full mouth, and it wasn’t a reassuring look. “You might want to, though.”

Ah. Not good news, then. Of course not.

“Thanks for the warning.” He tilted his lips in an equally mirthless smile. “I think perhaps you’d better get to the point.”

“So you can make your reservations? So you can meet your date?” She glanced toward the door. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“I don’t see that my relationship with Marta is relevant.”

“How serious is this relationship? Was she your girlfriend when you…eight weeks ago?”

“Again,” he said, though he had to work to keep a patient tone, “I think you’ll need to establish the relevance before—”

“You want relevance?” She hadn’t ever unfolded her arms, and he saw her fingers tighten until the knuckles were white. “Okay, I’ll give you relevance.”

He waited. The room was so quiet he realized neither one of them was breathing. “I’m pregnant.”

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Kitty nursed a glass of ice water in the restaurant of her hotel, trying to occupy herself by mentally critiquing the bartender. Unfortunately, because the hotel was half empty and down on its luck, nothing much was happening except the occasional request for an after-work beer.