Maternally Yours

“The vet estimated she was about six months old when I found her wandering around outside of Connelly Tower. She was starving, scared of her shadow and extremely grateful.” He laughed. “That was a little more than a year ago. Now she’s well fed, arrogant as hell and thinks she owns me, instead of the other way around.”

He left the room to dispose of the tattered pillows. When he returned a few minutes later carrying a leash, Elena noticed that he’d changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. “I hope you like Chinese food.” When she nodded, he looked relieved. “Good. I just called in an order for chicken noodle soup, rice and stir-fried vegetables. It should be here in about twenty minutes.”

He walked over to snap the leash onto Babe’s collar. His hand brushed hers as he fastened the snap, and heat streaked up her arm. Elena quickly pulled back.

She wasn’t sure why, but every time Brett touched her—no matter how brief the contact—warm tingles radiated from the spot. “Do you have someone to take her out while you’re at work?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t noticed her breathless tone.

Nodding, he lifted the dog from her lap and set it on the floor. “I have a dog-walking service that comes by twice a day.” He looked down at Babe. “Ready to go out?”

Elena laughed when the dog glanced up at him, then aloofly turned her head and, ignoring him, started for the door. “You weren’t joking when you said she’d give you the cold shoulder, were you?”

The long-suffering look on his handsome face was ruined by the grin he couldn’t quite hide. “I get no respect around here. No respect at all.” His expression turning serious, he added, “Just sit there and relax. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

After he pulled on his coat and allowed Babe to lead him out the door, Elena propped her feet on the ottoman and thought about the many complexities of Brett Connelly. Her first impression of him had been that he was exactly like her hedonistic ex-husband. A man who lived for the moment and ran from anything that interfered with his good time or required that he take on any kind of responsibility.

She shook her head. Normally she could gauge someone’s personality with complete accuracy within the first five minutes of talking to them. She had to. It was her job to assess people and decide whether they were as they appeared.

But she had to admit she might have been a bit hasty with her first impression of Brett. Not only had he shocked her with his heartfelt apology in the E.R. and later at her apartment, he’d proven his compassion and generosity by insisting that she stay at his place while the furnace in her building was being repaired.

Elena looked around at his condo, at the expensive furniture and original paintings. What self-respecting playboy rescued stray dogs then good-naturedly allowed them to destroy his things as if it were nothing more than a minor annoyance? Or promised to help a pregnant cop with no one to turn to and nowhere else to go?

When Babe jumped onto the middle of his stomach and started doing a tap dance, Brett opened one eye. “Don’t tell me you have to go out now,” he muttered. “It’s barely daylight.”

In answer, the little dog yipped, scampered up his chest and licked his cheek.

He scratched behind her ears. “Oh, so with one doggy kiss I’m supposed to forgive and forget the way you treated me last night?”

Babe curled up on his bare chest, rested her head on her front paws and stared at him with two guileless black eyes as she whined an apology.

He groaned. “Okay, you’re forgiven. I’ll take you for a walk. Just don’t start with the sad puppy eyes.”

Brett plucked the little dog from his chest, rolled to the side of the bed and placed her on the floor. As he pulled on his sweat suit, Babe danced impatiently at his feet. He just hoped she didn’t start barking to hurry him along. Elena was in the bedroom just across the hall, and he didn’t want to wake her. She needed rest.

He quickly tied his running shoes, picked up Babe and walked out into the hall. The door to the guest room was still closed, and he didn’t hear sounds of Elena moving around. Good. They hadn’t disturbed her.

Last evening, when he and Babe had returned from their walk, he’d found Elena curled up in the chair where he’d left her. He smiled, remembering the scene.

She’d looked so relaxed, sleeping like a baby, that he hadn’t had the heart to wake her. She probably wouldn’t be happy with him, but after he’d moved her overnight case to the guest room, he’d picked her up and carried her to bed. So sound asleep, she’d barely stirred when he’d removed her shoes and pulled the comforter over her.

But he’d been left with two very distinct impressions from having her small body pressed to his chest. The first was how soft and feminine she’d felt, and the second was how shocked he’d been by the degree of heat that had coursed through him. His body stirred at the memory, and his pithy curse made Babe turn around to give him a curious look.

Forcing himself to focus on his other impression of Elena’s body, he frowned. He didn’t have any experience with pregnant women, but he was pretty sure they were supposed to be a little sturdier than Elena. He’d been disturbed by how light she was and how fragile she’d felt in his arms. She couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds.

The doctor’s orders had been for her to start eating more regular meals, and it bothered him that she’d missed dinner last night. But he would see that she made up for it this morning. As soon as he returned to the condo, he would prepare a big breakfast and make sure she ate every bite.

Half an hour later Brett opened the door of his condo to the scrumptious smell of bacon frying. “Elena?”

“In here,” she called.

He quickly shed his coat and unsnapped the leash from Babe’s collar. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, walking into the kitchen. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

“Good morning to you, too,” she said, removing several strips of crisp bacon from the skillet. She looked around his feet. “Where’s Babe?”

Brett jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room. “Burrowed under what’s left of the pillows on the couch.” He noticed that Elena had showered and changed into jeans and a gray sweatshirt with Chicago Police Academy silk-screened across the front.

“Why did she do that?” she asked, removing a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.

“She always does that to warm up after she’s been out.” He took the carton from Elena and placed it on the counter.

“I don’t blame her,” she said, smiling. “February in Chicago can be miserably cold.” She reached for an egg. “How do you like your eggs? Sunny-side up, over easy or scrambled?”

“Over easy.” He took the spatula from her hand and guided her to the table in the breakfast nook. “But I’ll take care of it. You sit down.”

“I’m perfectly capable of cooking.” Her eyes narrowed. “Just as I would have been capable of putting myself to bed last night if someone had bothered to wake me.”

He’d figured on her having something to say about that. “You were tired.”

“That’s beside the point,” she said stubbornly.

“No, Elena. That is the point.”

He watched the color heighten on her cheeks as the sparkle of anger grew in her beautiful brown eyes. Propping his fists on his hips, Brett glared down at her from his much taller height. He hated using intimidation with anyone, and especially with a woman. But if it kept her from overdoing things, he’d do whatever it took.

“You’re supposed to take it easy, and I’m going to make sure you do,” he said sternly. “Besides, you’re my guest. So sit down.”

She glared at him as if she intended to argue further, then finally relented and seated herself at the table. “Brett, I…”

To his horror her eyes filled with tears and her perfect lips trembled. His gut twisted into a tight knot. He hadn’t thought her feelings would be hurt over something as trivial as his insistence that she relax, while he finished cooking breakfast.

“Elena, honey, I’m sorry,” he said, kneeling in front of her. He took her hands in his. “Please don’t cry.”

“I hate this,” she said, pulling away. She covered her face and cried harder.

He felt like a world-class jerk as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “I don’t blame you for hating me, honey. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly.”

She shook her head and sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

“You?”

She nodded and Brett had no idea what she meant. But at the moment he didn’t care. Her small body pressed to his, the feel of her arms wrapped around him and her warm breath teasing the sensitive skin of his neck were wreaking havoc with his good intentions.

“It’s…hormonal,” she sobbed. “I can’t…control it.”

So that was it. Her uncontrollable crying was due to her pregnancy.

Thinking back several years, Brett remembered his twin brother, Drew, mentioning that his wife had experienced all kinds of emotions while she was pregnant with their daughter, Amanda. In fact, he and Drew had jokingly referred to Talia’s sudden mood swings as the Nine-Month Nutsies.

Of course, they hadn’t dared mention that to Talia or any other woman. They’d had better sense than that.

“Feeling better?” he asked when Elena’s sobs tapered off and her shoulders stopped shaking.

She nodded and pushed away from his embrace. “I’m so embarrassed,” she said, her voice nothing more than a whisper as she stared down at her clasped hands.

He retrieved a handful of tissues from the box on the counter, then gently touched her damp cheek to wipe away her tears. “Don’t be embarrassed. It goes along with being pregnant.”

Elena looked up at him with one perfect brow raised questioningly. “You’ve had experience with pregnant women before?”

“No, but my twin brother’s late wife had a lot of trouble with her emotions when she was pregnant,” Brett explained. “That was back when Drew and I still confided in each other.”

The look on his handsome face, the sadness in his deep baritone made Elena wonder what had happened. “You’re no longer close?”

“Not as close as we were.” He shrugged, but she could tell it still bothered him. “After Talia died, Drew pretty much shut himself off emotionally from the rest of the family.”

“Why did he do that?” she asked, unable to understand why anyone would distance themselves from their family at the very time they needed them most. If she’d ever had a family, she knew for certain she would have turned to them innumerable times for their love and support. It would have made coping with her two miscarriages and the breakup of her marriage so much easier.

Brett stood and walked over to the stove. He broke a couple of eggs into the skillet before he spoke again. “I think Drew pulled back from the family emotionally because he blames himself for Talia’s death. She died of a drug overdose when their daughter was little.” Brett turned to face her. “The rest of the family knew there was something wrong with her, that she was taking way too much prescription medication, and we tried to tell him. But Drew was in denial about her problems. When he finally found the evidence and faced facts that his society bride was addicted to drugs, it was too late. He came home from work one day to find her dead.”

“I remember reading about that. That must have been awful for him.”

He nodded. “And the media just added to it. Since she was a Van Dorn, married to a Connelly, the newspapers were like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Every publication from here to Milwaukee carried the story, and most of the television and radio stations gave it more than average attention.”

Having dealt with reporters at crime scenes, she was well aware of the tactics used by some reporters to slant the facts or to create a story where none existed. But when two of Chicago’s most prominent families were touched by the same scandal, it was noteworthy. Factor in Brett’s mother, Emma, being the former princess of Altaria and it would naturally become front-page news.

“There are times I’ve despised dealing with the media,” Elena said sympathetically. “More than once they’ve complicated and, at times, even jeopardized investigations.”

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