A Pregnancy And A Proposal

Heather shrugged. “I guess.” It was her standard noncommittal answer, the underlying meaning lurking beneath the tone.

Darcie heard the interpretation as though it were a shout.

“Give him a chance, sweetie. He’s really upset.”

Heather tried to keep the belligerent look on her face, but she couldn’t. The minute her dad moved toward her, she lost it. A sob escaped and she slipped right into his arms, burrowing into his chest.

“You scared me half to death, sweetheart.”

“I was scared, too, Daddy.” She inhaled and hiccuped on a laugh. “You’ve got mushy crackers on your tie. That’s gross.”

Mary Beth squealed and boinked Heather on the head with drool-slick fingers. The kid should seem like a nuisance. But she wasn’t. Not really. Heather hugged her dad some more, then took the baby from his arms, determined to show her off. This was one of those instances where a baby came in handy. She was a buffer. Plus nobody could resist a little kid. Heather liked the attention the baby brought, even if she sometimes had to take a back seat to her. She could always pretend that it was for her, too.

Proudly she turned and walked over to Grandma Connor. “This is Mary Beth,” she introduced.

Grandma ran a wrinkled finger over Mary Beth’s cheek, then turned her eyes onto Heather, reaching out to pat her hair. “You’re a good girl. You do your family proud.” Heather didn’t really understand the praise, but she understood the look. It meant that she was special, and just as important as the baby was.

“We should be going, Heather,” Flynn said.

Heather’s stomach dipped. She wasn’t ready to go yet. He didn’t seem mad that she’d run away, but she was pretty sure he was gonna yell when they were alone. Well, he never really yelled, but it felt like it anyway. He’d probably just ground her again, though technically she was already grounded, so that wouldn’t be any big deal.

Thankfully Darcie’s mother saved the moment.

“Of course you should not be going! You haven’t had dessert! Did you eat a meal? I could warm up a nice plate of chicken for you.”

“No, really, I’ve eaten—”

“Then cake. You’ve not eaten chocolate cake, have you?”

“No—”

“Good. Sit. I’ll get you a plate and milk.”

Darcie was tickled by the look on Flynn’s face as her mother steamrollered him. “Might as well sit,” she said. “You’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t.”

“Watch your tongue,” Rose admonished.

Flynn glanced at Darcie just in time to see her lick her lips. His hand tightened on the back of the chair and his movements stilled for a split second.

To his everlasting horror, the two older ladies honed right in on his pause and the reason for it.

Flynn felt his ears burn, knew his face was beet red. Man, he hadn’t even been formally introduced to these women, yet they knew that he was thinking erotic thoughts about Darcie’s tongue. It was there in the twinkle of their eyes, in the way they practically tossed a cup of milk and his plate of cake in front of him and scooted Heather and Mary Beth out of the room on some pretense of showing them off to someone called Johnny.

Chapter Three

“I take it that was your mom and grandmother?” He sat down and tried to focus on the wedge of chocolate cake in front of him rather than on sexy thoughts of Darcie Moretti.

“Yes. Rose and Edna.”

“And Johnny’s your father?”

“Smart and good-looking, too,” she quipped. “Want me to call them all back for introductions?”

“Let’s give it a few. Let me quit blushing.”

“You were thinking about watching my tongue?”

He nearly choked on a sip of milk. “You are direct.”

“Is there any other way to be?”

“Well…yes.” He felt off balance, shy, for crying out loud. His memories of Darcie were vivid and fresh in his mind. He took a bite of dessert, glad of the distraction. “Cake’s good.”

“Ma makes the best.” She sat down across from him. “What’s going through your mind?”

“Too many things to name.” He put down his fork and took another sip of milk. There was something about this homey kitchen that made him feel welcome, made him reluctant to leave. But he didn’t belong here. He needed to learn to handle his family life—his children—on his own. Enrolling in The Daddy Club was a step in the right direction, a desperate measure after being backed against the wall and not knowing where else to turn. He couldn’t allow himself to idealize the Morettis or anyone else as fairy godmothers, ready to swoop in and smooth out the wrinkles of his home life. “I appreciate you finding Heather.”

“She was at Hawkins Park.”

Flynn pushed his empty plate away and gazed up at the ceiling. “I should have known that,” he said, his voice both soft and rough. “It’s where Marsha used to take her.”

“Your wife.”

“Yeah.” Her tone surprised him, had a strained ring to it. But when he looked at her, nothing appeared amiss. Just as well. He didn’t want to talk about Marsha now. Too many whammies had blindsided him today. His nerves were raw and a breath away from splintering.

“Heather’s changed a lot in the past few months, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to get through to her. I had no idea she would ever think of running away.”

“You probably did, if you think back.”

“Maybe. It’s tough, though, you know? I’m dealing with a thirteen-year-old who doesn’t speak my language and a one-year-old who doesn’t speak any language!”

Darcie burst out laughing, the sound exuberant and refreshing, touching something deep in his battered soul. He didn’t realize how much he needed spontaneous laughter in his life, how much he needed a friend.

“Guess I sounded a little dramatic, huh?”

“No. Typical father of a teenager.”

“Thank God I’m typical.” Feeling lighter, he tipped back the kitchen chair, balancing on the rear legs. “I thought I was a total alien!”

“You’re a handsome alien.”

There was that directness again. Slowly he lowered the chair legs back to the linoleum floor, his gaze holding hers. He noticed beads of perspiration on her face, then glanced at her wool coat. “Aren’t you too warm in that jacket?”

She made a figure eight in a mound of spilled sugar on the maple table and didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

When he put his hand over hers, he felt her jolt of awareness. Darcie Moretti was attracted to him and doing her darnedest to act otherwise. He’d known it that night five months ago, and it was evident tonight. “What happened to you that night? Why did you leave?”

Because you called me Marsha. She shrugged. “I had to go. You were asleep so I left you that way.”

She wasn’t ready for this turn of conversation, didn’t have her words planned out. She liked to be in control, liked to know where every period and comma belonged, liked to fix things. All on her terms though. She didn’t care to be caught off guard like this.

He ran his thumb over the freckles on the back of her hand. “I looked for you in Philly. You led me to believe you lived there.”

This time she didn’t evade. “Maybe I did. It felt easier somehow. I don’t normally go to bed with guys I’ve just met.” Just ones I’ve been in love with all my life. “I was saving us both the embarrassment of the morning after.”

“We didn’t just meet, Darcie. I’ve known you since you were a kid.”

“Known of me, maybe, but you didn’t really know me.” The timing had always been off for them. When she was thirteen, he’d been the older boy who made her breath catch and her dreams sweet, but he hadn’t even known she was alive. He’d been wrapped up in football and cheerleaders, making her young heart weep with jealousy. Then at eighteen, she’d been the wrong social class and her fantasies had suffered a stinging death when the society page had gone gaga over his country club wedding to Marsha Levine, the district attorney’s daughter.

At thirty-one, Darcie’s fantasies had been resurrected when she’d encountered him in a hotel bar, both of them single, alone and all grown up. And she had seen her chance to put her fantasies to rest, operating on the theory that experiencing him would end her obsession.

Boy, had that been convoluted reasoning.

“I’d like the chance to get to know you now,” Flynn said, jolting her out of her musing.

His fingers stroked across hers lightly, making it hard to concentrate. And she was sure there was a reason she needed to remember all her faculties, to keep up her guard. But the firm shape of his lips was distracting, the smooth, deep tone of his voice mesmerizing.

She pulled her hand from beneath his, sat back in her chair, took a long breath.

A dimple creased his cheek. “Did that make you nervous?”

“Maybe.” She crossed her arms, then realized how that molded her coat to her body, and quickly uncrossed them.

“I’m very curious about you, Darcie Moretti, and intrigued…. I’m attracted to you and telling myself it’s not wise to pursue.”

Darcie licked her suddenly dry lips. They had a maple table between them. The smell of chocolate cake permeated the air. The heat of the furnace fogged the kitchen window that was edged with ice. All very homey and comfy and perfectly innocent, and yet she had the most overpowering urge to jump his bones. Oh, this was unacceptable.

And because it was unacceptable, she laughed. She didn’t know what else to do. She did know that she ought to head him off at the pass.

“For heaven’s sake, don’t just tell yourself not to pursue me—shout it.”

His brown-eyed gaze locked on to her, pinning her in the chair, making her heart speed up. Then his lips curved and before he even spoke, she knew she was a goner.

“So,” he began in that deep, sexy voice, “it seems you’re just as intrigued. Which means, I’m thinking…that you wouldn’t stop me if I, say…kissed you?”

The cuff of his dress shirt rode up on his wrist, revealing a silver watch. His hands were bold and strong—the kind of hands that were experienced in giving a woman pleasure. She knew that only too well.

She scooted back her chair. “We’re in my mother’s kitchen.”

“I didn’t mean right this minute.”

He was giving her a fair warning—a sensual warning. And it was thrilling.

And scary as all get-out.

There was still one big hurdle she needed to cross with him. But, oh the chemistry between them was like a dancing flame—hot and seductive, mesmerizing. She shook her head, wishing she dared take off her coat.

His sexy smile creased dimples beside his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I can’t believe I’ve made you speechless. Darcie the bold.”

“Darcie the sensible. Can you imagine my mother or grandmother walking in here, catching us looking at each other like animals in heat?” Oh, good grief. She held up a hand. “Forget I said that. Just give me a minute to find a hole to sink into.”

He laughed. “I like you, Darcie Moretti.”

Her traitorous heart gave a glad leap. She more than liked Flynn O’Grady. “Shh, Ma and Grandma will be in here to see what they’re missing out on. And then we’d all be in big trouble, because they’re forever trying to fix me up with somebody—male, that is.” Well, there she went again, putting her foot in it. She needed some glue for her lips.

“I’m all for being fixed up.”

“You can make light of it, but then you get to go home and never hear from them again. I have to put up with their nagging.” She pushed at her hair, adjusted a chopstick that was slipping. “They live to give me flak.”

“Does that bother you?”

“It would bother me if they didn’t nag.”

He nodded, his chocolate eyes letting her know she might be off the hook for now, but that he was reserving the right to pick up the sensual thread at a moment’s notice.

It was a terribly unsettling look.

“I wish Heather would adopt that attitude.”

“What?” She was having trouble keeping up. “Oh, you mean about nagging? She’s not as against you as you might think, Flynn. But she’s dealing with a lot lately.”

His brow rose.

She held up her hands in defense, remembering his pique in the rest room when she’d stated a similar conclusion. “I’m not outlining your perceived failures, or assuming to know all about your circumstances.”

“Yes, you are,” he said softly.

That caught her off guard, and for a minute she went silent. Then she laughed softly. “Okay, so I am. Sorry. Sue me. It’s a curse.”

“A good curse. You care.”

“Yes, I do. A great deal. And I want what’s best for Heather.”

“Then give me some pointers.”

“Be patient with her. Try to remember what it was like when you were her age.”

“Man alive, what do you think I’ve been doing? That’s exactly why I’m so concerned about her!”

“Shame on you, O’Grady. I wasn’t talking about sex.”

“Yeah? Well, every young boy is thinking it when he looks at Heather.”

“You mean Robbie Sanders?”

“For one. He’s in high school. He’s got no business sniffing around a thirteen-year-old.”

Darcie bit her lips to keep from laughing. He was so endearingly old-fashioned.

“What?” he demanded.

She shook her head and laughed. “Nothing. You’re just so predictable. A typical father who’s resisting his little girl growing up into a woman.”

“Don’t even say that.” He shuddered, and Darcie laughed even harder.

“You need to trust her, Flynn. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s just going through adolescent changes, and she’s confused. But I believe she’ll make the right decision in the end.”

“She’s only thirteen. She’s too young to make decisions—”

She pressed a finger to his lips, raised a brow.

A sensual fire ignited like an inferno in Flynn’s gut. He reached up, cupped her hand and held it in place. Just to see what she would do, he kissed her finger. She drew in a shaky breath.

Their eyes held over their clasped hands. And by damn, he liked that interest he saw in hers, the swift desire.

Flynn wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but he’d lost any thread of their conversation. His gaze kept straying to her mouth. Those full lips. The freckles surrounding them, fanning out to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, the golden flecks dusting the backs of her hands, expressive hands that gestured with wild abandon, yet with grace.

A burst of canned laughter sounded from the television in the living room. Mary Beth’s delighted squeal mingled with conversation and a sitcom rerun.

Flynn raised his eyes back to hers.

Her indrawn breath was swift and telling. “What is it with us?” she asked.

He didn’t need clarification of her question. The chemistry between them was palpable. Just like it had been that night at the hotel. “It’s pretty strong.”

She stood, fanned herself. “This is a really bad idea, but let’s go outside.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. His daughters were well chaperoned and happy. Darcie had said that her family had a knack for soothing the ruffled feathers of hormonal teens. He would continue to give them time to work their magic. And he would take some time for himself, some sorely needed time for himself. Time with a pretty woman on the front porch. A woman he’d been dreaming of for the past five months.

Darcie held the door for Flynn and closed it behind them, inhaling the crisp night air, allowing it to cool her body and her runaway hormones.

Pines and leafy bushes that had survived winter’s frost surrounded the porch. Concrete steps led down to a postage-stamp-size yard that was sliced in two sections by a walkway—a cookie-cutter version of every other yard on the block. Across the street, the neighbors still had their Christmas lights up, though the twinkling strands sagged where wind and snowfall had pulled out the staples.

The snow had stopped but the smell of rain was in the air. Cold bit at her cheeks, but her insides were burning.

She turned and gazed at Flynn’s tie. It wasn’t like her to feel shy, but she suddenly did. “You’re awfully dressed up.”

“I had a meeting with a new client.”

“Not at a job site, I take it?”

“Sort of. It’s a house over in New Brunswick. A remodel of a Victorian built in the early 1900s.”

His breath ballooned in front of him, warming her cheeks. “I thought Ula Mae said you did commercial architecture.” Ula Mae seemed to know everyone and everything going on in the state of New Jersey. And she was more than happy to pass it along. Since Darcie saw a lot of the older woman—mostly when they were discussing investments or insurance over an espresso at Hardware and Muffins —she usually got an earful of tidbits about the people in the community.

“I do both,” Flynn said, his dimples flashing a sexy warning. “What else does Ula Mae say about me?”

For the life of her, Darcie couldn’t come up with a witty quip. His utter charm and good looks snagged her, held her. “Uh, plenty.”

His grin widened. “Shall we see if I measure up?”

“That’s not…” Necessary, she finished silently.

Slowly, purposefully, he pulled her to him. Her heart slammed against her chest as he molded her body to his.

She knew exactly how this man measured up.

Desire raged like a flash point fire. Her belly wasn’t yet so big that she couldn’t feel his erection against the vee of her thighs.

“What have you got under that coat?”

His question brought reality crashing around her, nearly making her faint. She stared at his lips, then his eyes. Why couldn’t he have just kissed her and asked questions later?

Time had just run out.

“Uh, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

His lips touched hers, and she groaned. The fire between them was still as strong as ever. And she needed to be strong. She eased back.

“I’m…uh, pregnant.”

For what seemed like endless moments, he simply stared at her, his expression utterly blank. Then his forehead pleated and his body went rigid as he visibly struggled to process what she had said. “You’re…?”

“I’m going to have your baby.”

Chapter Four

Flynn leaped back, stunned, needing to sit before he fell. “You’re having my…” My God, he couldn’t even finish the sentence. He’d need those Daddy Club meetings more than ever now, he thought stupidly.

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. He stared at the front of her coat, realizing now why she’d kept the baggy thing on.

A baby? His? What had he been thinking that night? He was a man who cherished family, had always wanted a big one—despite the ineptness he was currently displaying with the one he had—but he was normally more careful with a woman. Protected her.

“Let me see.”

Darcie suddenly felt embarrassed. With trembling fingers, she slipped the buttons through their loops, spread the panels, felt her heart gallop out of control as he eased away from the porch wall and came toward her, never taking his eyes off her belly.

At only five months along, she wasn’t hugely pregnant, but there was a definite swell beneath her charcoal jersey-knit tunic.

He reached out as though to touch, then pulled back. “Are you sure—”

Her chin jutted out and she didn’t let him finish his sentence. She didn’t need to. “Am I sure it’s yours?” Offended, hurt, she clenched her teeth. That damned class distinction that had made her feel like a waif at thirteen and again at eighteen rose up to haunt her. She thought she’d outgrown the insecurity. She hadn’t.

She stepped back, took a breath, told herself she would not cry. “You know, why don’t we just forget this whole thing, okay? We’ll just deal with getting Heather to go home with you and that will be that.”

“Darcie…” He reached for her.

She slapped his hand away. “I might have given you the wrong impression that night in Philly when I hopped right into bed with you, but I’m not like that. I’m not loose.”

“Ah, damn it.” This time he evaded her swatting hands, and cupped her face. “I know you’re not.”

“How? You don’t know me.”

“Instincts, then.” His thumbs massaged her temples.

She sniffed, mortified that the tears had slipped down her cheeks despite her strict efforts to hold them back. He should be hurling questions at her, yet instead he gave her tenderness.

“Your instincts are awful,” she said, not even knowing why she said it. Nothing made sense right now.

He eased her close. “Why in the world didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Her breath caught on a suppressed sob and she shrugged. Admitting that she was a chicken didn’t seem adequate for the moment.

He didn’t push. He simply held her closer. “It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t.”

“Shh.” His palms were cold against her cheeks, his fingers gentle where they outlined the shell of her ear, cupped the back of her head. His head lowered, paused.

With exquisite care, he removed the colorful barrettes and chopsticks from her hair. Masses of naturally curly hair tumbled down, tangling with his fingers. Pinpricks raised goose bumps on her scalp and her arms. The roots of her hair hurt from being held up for so many hours, but his steady massage soothed…and inflamed.

Unconsciously she pressed against him. His gaze moved to hers, so strong and sure and utterly focused, holding her like a soft caress. She shivered, heard a silent click in her brain and knew she was already in too deep, knew too that there was nothing she could do to turn off her traitorous emotions.

The sound of her moan was lost in his mouth as his lips finally closed over hers. The jolt was almost too much to stand. She jumped, pulled back for an instant and once more met the heat of his eyes.

“Easy,” he whispered.

He took her lips again and heard her say, “Trouble.”

Yes. Definitely trouble. But it was the sweetest kind. The explosion of emotions that burst through him took him by surprise. Darcie Moretti was no shrinking violet when it came to giving and taking…or kissing. She didn’t play games or wait for him to lead. She participated, gave it her all. And man alive! What that “all” did to him.

He’d had his thirty-sixth birthday, and lately he’d been feeling jaded and old. With the simple, avid press of Darcie’s lips, he suddenly felt young and renewed.

He angled her head for better access and dove into the kiss, forgetting that Darcie’s family and his own daughters were on the other side of the door. He was caught up in some really glorious sensations, and for a while he just wanted to feel. Just that.

And he was feeling a lot—the soft warmth of her mouth, the pillowy feeling of her plump lips pressed to his, the heat of her thighs where they made a perfect cradle for his erection. Her pregnant belly was firm and spooned right into his stomach as though their bodies were made to fit that way….

As though the Almighty had made each with the other in mind.

And that thought scared him, big-time.

Darcie could hardly breathe, and then decided that breathing was overrated. There was a certain thrill in the dizziness born of lack of oxygen. At that moment, she was certain that she could sustain her life on Flynn’s taste alone—chocolate cake and milk and masculinity…and yes, trouble.

His kiss was sure and strong, yet soft and seductive. The joy he created with just that touch was potent, liberating. She wanted to go on forever, to take it further, to press closer, skin to skin….

The porch light winked on and off. Darcie’s eyes popped open and she leaped back from Flynn, her breath heaving, puffing white in the cold night air.

“Grandma Connor,” she explained, struggling for breath. “She used to do that to me when I was a teenager, too. It meant my dad was out of his chair and I was in danger of being caught.”

Flynn gave a strained laugh. “Been a while since I’ve worried about being caught necking on a girl’s front porch.”