The Baby Agenda

“If you’ll excuse me, my feet are killing me and I think I had too much to drink. I’m about to conk out.”

“You’re not planning to drive, are you?”

She shook her head. “I think I’ll get a room.”

Will smiled at her. “I’ll walk you down.”

“You don’t have to—”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said with a formality unusual to him.

After a moment, she murmured, “Then, thank you.” She started toward the open doors, and he strolled at her side.

When they reached the ballroom, he could hardly tear his eyes from her face. She was indeed pretty, but in a way that contrasted with her curvaceous, seductive body. Her cheeks were round, her forehead high, giving her an unexpected look of vulnerability, and her milk-pale skin was dusted with pale gold freckles. Her eyes were green, but flecked with gold, too. And her eyebrows, like the hair on her head, were the pure color of copper.

She looked…innocent, which made him feel guilty for wondering if the rest of her body was freckled, too, if the nipples crowning her generous breasts were pink or dusky brown, whether her pubic hair was copper bright, too.

He almost groaned. Yes, of course it was. And, damn it, he had no business thinking this way when he couldn’t start anything with her. He was tying up the last strands of this part of his life, not opening any new packages. However enticing this one was.

Moira greeted a couple of people, and he did the same. They even had a few mutual acquaintances, none of whom seemed to think anything of the fact that they knew each other. He wondered what she did for a living, but decided he didn’t want to know. He’d prefer to remember her as his mysterious redhead.

Then she stiffened. Raising his eyebrows, Will saw the couple directly in front of them. Good-looking guy, beautiful woman if you liked hip bones sharp enough to draw blood and thought counting ribs was an excellent postcoital activity.

The scumbag, clearly, and Graziella. Feeling Moira’s tension, Will wasn’t nearly as amused as he’d been when she last said the name.

“Bruce,” she said coolly.

Some instinct made Will lay his hand on Moira’s back in a way any other man would recognize. Mine. He nodded, making plain his disinterest, and steered her around the other couple.

“Aren’t you Will Becker?” the other guy said.

Will nodded. “Yes.” And kept going.

Moira gave another of those little gurgles of laughter that sounded like a small brook tumbling over rocks.

“Well, that was rude.”

“Yeah, and I enjoyed it,” he said truthfully.

She turned that laughing face up to him, her eyes sparkling, and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He kept his hand on her until they reached the front desk, at which point he stood back and let her take a credit card from the small, sparkly bag she’d carried over her shoulder. When eventually she turned around, he asked, “All set?”

“Yes. You don’t have to walk me up, Will.”

“Yes, I do.”

She bit her lip and studied him for a moment, her eyes curiously vulnerable in a way that gave him a pang.

Twice now he’d thought of her as such, which had to mean something.

He knew what that something was. His gut was telling him to say good-night to her outside her hotel room door and leave. Don’t kiss her. Don’t step over the threshold. She wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman, and he wasn’t interested in anything but.

Moira nodded and let him walk beside her to the elevators. One opened as soon as she pushed the button, and they rode upward in silence, side by side. He heard the soft sigh of a breath from her, caught an elusive scent that seemed old-fashioned. He had a flash of standing on the deep front porch of his family home, the sky purple with twilight, and that scent filling his nostrils.

Lilac.

The elevator opened and he said, “What’s your room number?”

She stumbled, stepping out, and he wrapped a hand around her arm to catch her. “Um…” She looked at the small folder she held. “Two-eighteen.”

Will nodded and directed her to the right. The hall was broad, the plush charcoal-gray carpet inset with maroon. He stopped in front of 218 and watched as she fumbled with the card, finally getting it into the slot correctly and turning the knob when the green light flashed.

“I should say good-night now,” he said hoarsely.

Holding the door open, she met his eyes. “Did you mean it, when you said…” She seemed to lose courage.

“Said…?” His heart was hammering.

She whispered, “That you think I’m beautiful.”

“I meant it.” He lifted a hand, hesitated, then only grazed her round, plush cheek with his knuckles. “You are.”

Her tongue touched her lips; she took a deep breath. “Then will you stay?”

CHAPTER TWO

STUNNED PLEASURE BLOSSOMED inside him like the warmth from good whiskey.

“You’re sure?” Will asked.

Had she really invited him in? Could he get this lucky?

But already Moira’s eyes had widened, as if she’d shocked herself, and her face flushed. Even so, she mumbled, “I think so.”

Despite the rising tide of hunger, he found himself smiling. “That wasn’t the strongest yes I’ve ever heard.”

Now her gaze was shy. “I haven’t done this in an awfully long time.”

His every instinct was to kiss her and keep kissing her until she was past any second thoughts. Damn, he hadn’t had sex in…it had to be a year, since he’d parted ways with Julia. But as desperate as he felt, Will wasn’t willing to risk making love with a woman who might hate herself or him immediately afterward.

“It’s been a good long while for me, too,” he admitted.

“Probably not as long as it’s been for me.” This mumble was so low he doubted it had been for his ears. It was a good reminder that his redhead had maybe had too much to drink. She was clutching onto the door frame pretty hard.

“Why me?” he asked.

She raised her chin. “You can just say no.”

“I don’t want to say no.”

“Oh.” Her lashes fluttered. “I’m attracted to you. I suppose…I needed someone to tell me I’m beautiful. You sounded like you really did mean it.” Her shoulders moved in an oddly unhappy jerk. “This is only for tonight…”

“It can only be for tonight.” His voice came out harsh.

Now alarm flashed in her green eyes. “You’re not married?”

“No.” He laid a palm against her cheek and felt the heat of her blush. “No,” he said, softer. “Nothing like that.”

“Okay.” Her breath tickled his wrist. “Then…?”

“Are you on birth control? I don’t have anything with me.”

Now her cheeks blazed. “I do. I was planning…”

He got it. The jackass downstairs was supposed to be standing here, not him. He was a substitute.

This was one time, Will thought with amusement and a leap of desire, that he didn’t mind filling in.

“In that case,” he said huskily, “I’d love to stay.”

He had a fleeting moment of being bothered that she looked surprised—had she really thought he’d say no?—but it was forgotten when he stepped forward until their bodies touched, chest to thighs. He took the hotel key from her hand and urged her backward, until the door swung shut behind them.

The room was dark; he fumbled for a switch and batted at it. The lamp beside the king-size bed came on, casting a golden circle of light. Perfect.

Damn, she was pretty. Will tossed the hotel key onto a dresser top and divested her of the small evening bag, sending it after the key. Then he cupped her face in his broad palms and bent his head.

He didn’t feel gentle, but he made sure his mouth was. Simply a little friction on her lips, a nibble, a stroke of his tongue. He could taste the martini, and something more. Something, he thought, that was distinctly her. He lifted his head and looked down at her face where color still blossomed. This close he could see that her lashes were darkened with mascara. Their natural color was undoubtedly that same bright copper. He’d like to see her without the mascara, with no defenses.

Although she had precious few now. She might have started with lipstick, but it had worn off, and the roses in her cheeks were surely her own. It would take a lot of powder to cover her freckles, and why would she bother trying? He liked those freckles.

“Can I take your hair down?” he whispered.

Her eyes were dazed. “I… Yes. Of course.”

When he delved his fingers in, he found an intriguing texture. As he removed pins, curls sprang free. One leaped around his index finger as if to entrap it. Her hair was thick and strong, strands sleek but not downy soft. Despite the sexual tension that gripped Will, he found himself foolishly smiling, imagining her trying to tame this mass every day.

“It’s awful hair.”

“It’s glorious.” Pins showered to the carpet; he was too busy playing to care. The curls tumbled below her shoulders. He guessed if her hair had been straight it might have fallen to the middle of her back. He could see that calling it copper wasn’t right: a hundred colors seemed to be mixed, from hairs as pale as flax to ones a deep auburn, and every shade in between. It was beautiful in this light. With sun shining on her head, she must glow.

“Man,” he whispered, and buried his face in her hair. The lilac fragrance was coming from it, and he let himself wallow happily for a minute. Then he pulled back enough to nip her earlobe and finally string kisses across her cheek to her nose and mouth.

This time he kissed her deeply, hungrily, sliding his tongue past her teeth to stroke hers. She made a muffled sound and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body molded itself to his as if they were custom shaped. Sensation piled atop sensation: her tongue, slippery and sinuous against his, the plump, firm pillow of her breasts pressed against his chest, the vitality of the curls tangled around the hand he had cupping the back of her head.

He wanted her now, and fought to hold himself in check. That bastard downstairs had made her feel undesirable, and Will needed to fix that. Come morning, he was determined that she had no doubt in her mind how much he’d wanted her and how rich her own response was.

As he slid her zipper down and trailed his mouth over her throat, he murmured disconnected words meant to tell her what he felt. Her skin was unbelievably soft, and the leap of pulse under his lips aroused him like he couldn’t remember being. He nipped at her neck, wanting to leave a mark but careful not to. He couldn’t claim the right, not when he wouldn’t be around tomorrow.

She let out little gasps as he eased her dress down and peeled it off her arms then over her hips. His blood surged at the sight of her deep purple satin bra and a skimpy pair of matching panties.

“Beautiful. So beautiful,” he managed to say, although the words came out sounding raw. Her dress fell to her feet and he scooped her in his arms and moved her a few feet closer to the bed.

She wore no stockings, only strappy high heels and the bra and panties that were… His hands explored. Not a thong, but there wasn’t much there except the generous curve of butt that had him so hard he hurt.

Damn. He kissed her again, both his hands gripping her ass to hold her tight to his hips. They rocked where they stood, as if they couldn’t help themselves, and a groan tore its way from his throat.

He eased back and started yanking at his own clothes, flinging his suit coat to the floor, his tie after it the moment he got the damn knot undone. Moira was wrestling with the buttons of his shirt at the same time, and it fell to the floor, too.

Somehow he got the covers pulled down and laid her across the wide bed, her sprawl so wanton he couldn’t do anything but follow her even though he wanted to finish stripping. He had to cradle his erection between her thighs or he thought he might die right now.

They kissed and rolled, his hands everywhere on her body, hers on his. Not until she rose above him, sitting atop him, did he manage to undo the catch on her bra and free the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. Her chest was freckled, and a scattering of paler freckles danced down over the creamy skin traced with faint blue lines, as though her skin was more transparent than normal. Her nipples were pink, the aureoles larger and just a little deeper in color.

Will heard himself making sounds that weren’t even words as he tugged her near so that he could lave her nipples with his tongue, first one then the other. Kiss them softly, blow on the damp skin until she shivered, then suckle her, pulling the hard nubbin deep into his mouth as his cheeks flexed.

She clutched his shoulders and whimpered. Her hips rose and fell on his as if she couldn’t help herself, but he was afraid he’d come right now, in his pants, if she kept riding him that way. He rolled her onto her back so that he was on top, able to savor her breasts for another few minutes before he rose to his knees and tugged her panties off. There were the curls as bright as the ones on her head, nestled between a smooth, freckled stomach and perfect legs that were freckled, too. He wanted to kiss every single freckle, but he knew he wouldn’t last that long.

Her stomach. He’d start there. He loved the give of it; she had a tiny waist, but not the washboard abs of a woman who worked out every day. She felt intensely feminine, the ripples of reaction under his mouth amazingly erotic.

He finally had the strength of will to retreat enough to remove her shoes and, with clumsy hands, unbuckle his belt and shed his pants and socks. Then he kissed and licked his way up her legs, from the quivering arch of her feet to the sensitive back of her knees and the velvet softness of her inner thighs. He nuzzled her curls and inhaled her scent, his head swimming. A few strokes of his finger told him she was hot and wet and ready. Her cries had become something closer to mewls, and her head was flung back, her hair a halo against the white sheet.

He moved up between her thighs and got as far as pressing against her opening when his brain finally kicked in.

A condom! What in the hell had he been thinking?

He all but sprang from her. “Your purse?” he asked.

For a moment he could tell she didn’t comprehend, but then her eyes widened in shock that matched his. They’d come so close. Too damn close.

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Yes. I don’t know where…”

“I put it…” He turned his head and spotted the glittery bag. He leaped out of bed. When he got his hands on the bag, he dumped the contents on the dresser top, not caring that some fell to the floor. Between folded bills was one small packet, and that was it.

He wished she’d brought more than one.

Will ripped it open and put on the condom. Two long steps and he was at the bed, where her legs were still splayed wide. He ran his hands up them, caressing, squeezing, until his fingers reached her damp center and he stroked as he knelt there. Not until her hips rocked again did he lower himself, taking her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss even as he pushed inside her.

She was tight. So tight he had a brief, horrified moment of wondering whether she might be a virgin. But he met no barrier, although he had to quit kissing her to grit his teeth at the exquisite pressure her body put on him. He was a big man, but he’d never felt anything like this.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.

She was panting for breath and her eyes were dilated.

“No,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”

Will moved. Out, in, slowly this time. He was near to exploding, but he had to give her pleasure first. Had to.

“Never felt…anything…this good,” he groaned against her throat.

“Please.” She wrapped her legs around his hips and rose to meet his next thrust. “Oh, please.”

He knew what she needed. He just wasn’t sure he could hold out long enough. He tried to blank his mind as he plunged, again and again, clasped so tight by her. He’d been holding his weight from her on his elbows, but now he reached down with one hand and gripped her hips, lifting her higher, changing the angle at which their bodies met.

“Will?” She sounded…almost frightened. Stunned, certainly. And then she cried out, and her body spasmed. He drove himself in her as deep as he could go and let the climax roll through him, the pleasure so powerful he couldn’t have formed a coherent thought if his life had depended on it.

He collapsed on top of her and couldn’t move.

Through a haze, it occurred to him that he’d never felt this amazing in his life. That sex had never approached being this powerful. He didn’t know how or why it had been this time. Maybe something about the night, about having watched her for so long through the glass. And they didn’t know each other.

That was it: anticipation, and mystery.

Eventually he made himself roll to one side and tuck her against him, her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his chin. Eyes closed, he smiled, imagining those tendrils reaching for some kind of toehold, like ivy scaling a brick wall.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice thick.

She snuggled closer and said nothing.

Will let himself drift, aware of the change in her breathing as she fell asleep. And, in drifting, he slept himself.

It was probably the unfamiliar weight of her head on his shoulder that awakened him. Will was disoriented only for a moment. He reached up with his free hand and brushed curls from his mouth, then tilted his head enough to be able to see her face. Her lips were parted, and a faint snore came to his ears.

His body stirred, and Will wished again that they had more than one condom. He supposed he could call down to the front desk… But she was sound asleep. She didn’t surface when he gently disentangled himself. Wishing for another condom had reminded him that he hadn’t removed the last one, or cleaned up.

What he should do was get dressed and go. Staying longer wouldn’t bring anything but frustration and, come morning, an awkward conversation he’d as soon not have. She’d asked for one night; he’d told her it couldn’t be any more than that. What else was there to say?

Will eased away, used the bathroom, then quietly got dressed. He found a pen on the desk and wrote quickly on the back of one of his business cards:

You are beautiful. I wish more than one night had been possible.

Will.

He underlined the are with a dark slash.

He picked up her clothes and laid them over a chair, then tucked the covers under her chin. She sighed and shifted before sinking back into deep slumber.

Will took one last look at her face and the vivid hair spread across the pillow, turned off the lamp and quietly let himself out of the room.

MOIRA WOKE WITH A START. Her mouth felt disgusting and she tried to work up some saliva. When she moved, a headache blossomed. Ugh. Was she coming down with something…?

She opened her eyes and remembered. Oh, Lord, she thought in shock. Had she really…? She squeezed her eyes shut. Yes. Yes, she had.

Behind closed eyelids, she pictured him, broad and tall in the darkness, the way she saw him first, then his rough-hewn face above her here in this bed, his short dark hair and the deep brown eyes looking so intensely into hers. She saw him so vividly, she expected to see him in reality when she opened her eyes, even though she knew better.

When she rolled enough to check out the other side of the bed and the room, it was to find herself alone. He was gone. They’d had sex, and he’d left her sleeping.

After, Moira noticed, picking up her clothes so they weren’t left wadded on the floor.

With a groan, she got out of bed, snatched up her clothes and rushed into the bathroom. Her stomach felt queasy but not too bad. She couldn’t exactly say she was hungover, although she wished she hadn’t had the last drink or two. Maybe, with a clearer head, she’d have had more sense than to take a hotel room and invite a perfect stranger into bed with her.

Shame crawled over her skin like goose bumps. What on earth had made her do something like that? She’d had only one lover in her whole life, and that was a college boyfriend. All these years since, she’d never even been tempted to have a one-night stand.

Until last night. When she’d not only been tempted, she’d done it.

The shower was blessedly hot, and she stayed in it for a long time. Getting dressed afterward wasn’t fun, given that she didn’t have clean underwear and had to put on an evening gown and high heels. She’d have killed for coffee and breakfast to settle her stomach, but no way was she going in a restaurant dressed like this, advertising that she’d had a hard night. She could order from room service… But that seemed silly. She’d be home in forty-five minutes.

With no brush, either, all she could do was loosely braid her wet hair. Her evening bag…she spotted it lying atop the dresser, next to a TV schedule and some local promotional brochures. Her keys had fallen to the floor for some reason, and as she bent to pick them up she saw her lipstick, too. She grabbed the purse and straightened, stuffing the lipstick inside as she turned for the door. Moira had no idea where the room key was and didn’t care. At last, gingerly, she picked up the business card with the short note written on the back. A painful lump seemed to form in her chest.

Why can’t we have more than one night? But she wouldn’t call him. He’d made clear his limitations. If he wanted to, he could find her.

Moira dropped the business card in her purse and let herself out of the room. All she wanted was to get to her car, preferably unseen, and go home.

Then she would try to understand why she’d so foolishly gotten naked with a stranger, however kind and sexy he was.

But she knew, of course: her feelings had been hurt and she’d needed consolation. Foolish was the word for it, Moira thought, blushing as she crossed the hotel foyer under the gaze of a woman behind the front desk. And risky. That was another word for having sex with a stranger.

Except, he hadn’t hurt her, and she knew he’d used the condom. Because he’d remembered, not because she had. She’d been lucky. Done something dumb, and escaped any of the myriad possible consequences. She should be old enough not to have to learn a lesson this way, but apparently she wasn’t.

Moira got into her car and momentarily laid her forehead against the steering wheel.

I learned. I did.

Time to go home and… No, she wouldn’t wish Will Becker would call. Instead, she’d do her best to forget last night ever happened.

THE SECURITY LINE at the airport lay just ahead. This early in the morning, it was short. He’d have plenty of time for breakfast and coffee once he got through it.

Will had intended to take an airporter to SeaTac, but Sophie insisted on driving him. During the past week, he’d signed over the title to his pickup to Jack and piled a few plastic tubs filled with his possessions in the basement of the family home. This morning, he had taken one last look at his bedroom, stripped of personality, and felt something unexpected: grief. He was saying goodbye to his entire life to this point. He had grown up in this house, played with plastic dinosaurs on the floor of this same bedroom, fought later with his stepmother over how clean he had to keep it. Sneaked a high school girlfriend in here and had sex with her after his parents were in bed and asleep. Returned the one summer after his freshman year in college, swearing that it would be the last time he’d work for his father, the last time he’d swing a hammer.

Then he’d come home to stay after his parents died. He’d never considered moving into the master bedroom, which was still empty. It was stupid, really, with Jack, Sophie, Clay and him all here, all in small bedrooms designed for children. He hoped, if and when Clay got married, that he’d have the sense to overcome the past and make the house his. Really his.

Something Will hadn’t done, in part because he hadn’t wanted the house, or the company, and he sure hadn’t wanted to be a twenty-year-old stand-in father of three, responsible for the financial and emotional well-being of his young sister and brothers.