The Baby Gift

by Day Leclaire

  She turned her back on him and bowed her head, exposing the nape of her neck. He'd touched the soft skin there, had become intimately familiar with the downy texture when he'd slipped his hands along that vulnerable length into the short, silky layers of her hair. The sensation had been incredible—and one he'd be smart not to repeat.

  "I wish there was some way I could help you remember," she murmured.

  "Not tonight." His hands balled into fists as he fought the baser part of his nature. "Go to bed, Lauren."

  Startled by the harsh demand underscoring his words, she threw him a startled glance over her shoulder. Shadows cut across her, hiding most of her expression, but not the color or intensity of her eyes. Those damnable eyes. They were the most amazing shade of blue he'd ever seen, and had haunted him since the moment he'd first seen them. Secrets lived there, flitting among the unicorns and Santa Claus and impossible dreams. If he were very, very smart, he wouldn't kiss her again. Hell, he wouldn't even touch her. Because if he did, he'd allow all those fantasies to escape. And if that happened, the results would be catastrophic.

  He'd lose every remaining vestige of control.

  "Christmas is a’comin’,” she whispered a warning of her own. "It's the season for miracles, and whether you want a miracle or not, it'll be here soon."

  "You're wrong, sweetheart. This is one place Christmas doesn't visit. And I don't believe in miracles."

  Her smile broke through the darkness, along with a soft, silvery laugh. "Oh, Alessandro. You can't stop it. Not with all your logic or all your determination or all your strength. You can't control life. Haven't you learned that, yet? It has a knack for handing out the darnedest surprises. And when it chooses you, your only option is to fight a losing battle or embrace what you're handed with open arms."

  "Since you seem to know me so well, I don't have to tell you which option I'll choose.”

  Her smile dimmed. "No, But that doesn't mean I won't keep trying to change your mind." A yawn caught her by surprise and she stretched with catlike suppleness. "You're right. I am tired. Once I have a few more hours of sleep, I'll have enough energy to keep discussing the situation until you agree with me.”

  Alessandro couldn't help laughing. "I don't doubt that for a minute."

  He watched as she disappeared into the kitchen and chuckled quietly. Discuss the situation until he agreed with her. Hell, one more kiss and she could have claimed they were husband and wife and he'd have been addlepated enough to swear they'd stood before a magistrate and spoken vows.

  He headed into the kitchen and on toward his bedroom. No question. That kiss had been a mistake. He hesitated outside her tightly shut bedroom door. Time to make a few decisions in regard to the appealing Lauren Williams. And the first of them would be that he wouldn't touch her again.

  After all... He was in complete control.

  "Nicky!"

  Damn. He should have left a note for Lauren, Alessandro realized a little too late. Her panic the last occasion she woke up to find her nephew missing should have clued him in.

  "We're in the kitchen," he called. "We're having breakfast."

  She flew through the doorway, skidding on the slate floor, her arms pinwheeling for an instant. Her frantic movements drew her thin cotton shift taut across her breasts and he shot out his hand to steady her before she could land on her backside. He felt the wiry strength beneath the supple skin of her arm, the compact arrangement of sinew and muscles well accustomed to hard, physical labor. It didn't come as any surprise. Lauren struck him as the sort who spent most of her day working and very little of it relaxing. He'd have to see what he could do to change that during the time she stayed with him.

  "Thanks," she said breathlessly, regaining her balance.

  He released her, as disgusted as he was amused to discover he'd already managed to break his no touching rule. How long had it taken? Two seconds in her presence? Three? "No problem. Sorry to scare you again. I heard Nick thrashing around in the crib and decided the men would take care of breakfast while you slept in." He swept the boy's little nose with his fingertip. "Isn't that right, buddy?"

  Nick greeted the question with a slew of cheerful gibberish, holding out his arms for Lauren's embrace. She gave him an enthusiastic kiss, oblivious to the oatmeal and yogurt smeared across his face. "I don't usually oversleep."

  He didn't need to ask why. "You can't afford the luxury."

  "No."

  "Well, you can afford it while you're staying here. I'm happy to help out."

  She smiled her thanks, looking entirely too appealing for a woman who'd just crawled out of bed after a night of multiple interruptions. Her hair surrounded her head in a rumpled silvery cap and her eyes were still misted with sleep. Although fear had stolen the color from her cheeks, her lips were a rich, striking pink, tempting another kiss.

  He deliberately turned back to Nick and shoveled another spoonful of blueberry yogurt mixed with oatmeal into the boy's mouth. "I have coffee or hot chocolate ready once you're dressed. Any preference?”

  "Chocolate," she responded instantly.

  "Marshmallows, whipped cream or plain?”

  "Marshmallows?" She reacted with as much excitement as Nick when Alessandro had produced the box of toys. "And whipped cream?"

  "Tell you what…” Maybe he could use the opportunity to get some answers. "I'll put in both if you'll show me some sort of physical proof that Nick is my son."

  "Darlin’, you've got yourself a deal."

  Without another word, she scurried from the kitchen. By the time he'd finished feeding Nick and cleaned up the splattered remains of his breakfast, Lauren had returned, freshly showered and dressed in baggy jeans and a loose, pullover sweater. Alessandro handed over Nick and poured her a large mug of hot chocolate. He topped it with a healthy helping of marshmallows and whipped cream. When he passed her the drink, she shoved a creased photo in his direction. Drinking the chocolate with greedy elegance, she silently awaited his reaction.

  Alessandro studied the picture carefully. It was a close-up snap of a woman in her early twenties. Instead of being a short silver-blond like Lauren, Meg's hair was a bright glistening gold. And though her eyes were as dark a chocolate brown as his own, her appearance was similar enough to her sister's to suggest a familial relationship. She was quite lovely, perhaps prettier than Lauren in a conventional sense, her expression shy rather than impish. Still, they both shared identical wide, generous smiles and sparkling gazes, as well as the same triangular-shaped fact and delicate features.

  "Was her hair long?" he found himself asking.

  "Down to her waist." Lauren confirmed, scooping up a dollop of whipped cream with a fingertip and popping it into her mouth.

  "And fine as cornsilk?"

  She slowly returned the mug to the table. "You do remember!"

  "No, I don't." He deliberately set the photo on the table and stepped away. "Is this all the proof you have?"

  "Yes, you do," she argued, her tone ripe with desperation. "You remember her. I can see it in your eyes. Something about my sister—"

  "Enough!" A trace of an Italian accent flavored his command, one he seemed helpless to control. "A photo is not proof."

  Reluctantly, she shifted Nick to the opposite hip and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, one that had been folded and refolded repeatedly. It was a birth certificate, the copy officially stamped and notarized. She set it on the table and smoothed the creases. “There's this."

  He picked it up and scanned the information. The mother's name was listed as Margaret Mary Williams, the space for the father had been left blank. Nick had been born at six-seventeen Christmas morning in an Asheville hospital.

  "They don't allow an absentee father to be listed on the birth certificate in North Carolina," she revealed. "Otherwise your name would be there, Alessandro Vittorio Salvatore, as I recall."

  "I'm impressed."

  "Are you still convinced you're not his father?"

 
"As I said. I believe you're convinced.” He gave the certificate a final glance, freezing when he took another look at the baby's name. "Nick stands for Dominic?" he questioned, stunned.

  "Yea."

  Aw, hell. He hadn't expected this. "Was that a family name?"

  She nodded, drinking down the last of her hot chocolate. "But not our family. Your family. He's named after your father, Dom."

  "Meg knew my father's name?" he bit out "How?"

  Lauren closed her eyes and released her breath in a gusty sigh. "I've explained how. You just won't believe me."

  He didn't dare, regardless of the mounting evidence. "I'd be more inclined to listen if I knew for a fact that Nick was mine."

  "You sound cynical," she complained. "And there's no earthly reason for it."

  No reason? "You're kidding, right? There's every reason. A stranger shows up on my doorstep, baby in arms and insists I fathered him. Who wouldn't suspicious or even a little cynical?"

  "I take your point. But there's something you should consider before leaping to conclusions.” She buried her face in the dark waves of Nick's hair as though drawing strength from his closeness. "I suspect the woman who showed up on your doorstep with that baby in her arms expected you to recognize her. Maybe she has every right to feel suspicious and cynical, too, wondering how it's possible for a man to forget something as significant as fathering a child. But maybe she respects the man in question enough to withhold judgment until all the facts are in.”

  The soft words dropped between them, the depths of anguish they expressed painful to hear. As much as he'd like to explain, he couldn't. Not until he was ready. Not until— Until what, Salvatore? Until he had no other option? Until he was convinced of her sincerity? Her innocence? One look had given him a reasonable assessment of her character. He was delaying because he didn't want to raise her hopes, only to crush them again. Or maybe it was because he didn't dare face the truth.

  Nick could be his.

  "Until I have proof positive, forcing the issue is pointless,” he said.

  She accepted his answer with a stoicism he could only admire. "You're not going to have proof positive for a while. I assume these tests take time?"

  "I have no idea. I'll make a few phone calls today and find out."

  "'And if the results take a week or two?"

  "Then they take a week or two."

  "You're missing my point."

  She held out Nick and Alessandro relieved her of the baby. He still didn't believe that Nick was his, but that didn't stop him from examining the miniature features, searching for a resemblance. Lauren exited the kitchen and he followed her into the living room. Rummaging through the carton of toys, she removed a selection of balls and plastic books, setting them on the rug next to where Alessandro had placed Nick. The baby immediately grabbed the nearest book and began chewing on it. Lauren flopped down next to him and took it from his mouth. Opening to the first page, she pointed to a picture of a kitten.

  "Cat.” She smiled encouragingly. "Can you say cat, Nick?"

  He flashed his teeth at her, babbling a string of gibberish that didn't sound the least like cat.

  "Has he learned any words?" Alessandro asked.

  "Not yet."

  "Isn't that unusual? I thought they knew a few by the time they were one. I seem to remember Luc's youngest could say—"

  Mommy or daddy, he'd almost told her. But right now, Nick didn't have either, poor kid. It was a little hard to learn the words without a source of reference. A line appeared between Lauren's brows and Alessandro silently cursed himself for giving her one more thing to worry about.

  "I'm sure it'll come in time," he reassured. "As for what we were discussing before... If you're worried about a place to stay while we wait for the test results, you're welcome to stay here.”

  "Even if it's over Christmas?"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  She propped her chin in the palm of her hand, sparing him a quick, assessing glance. "Because Nick and I intend to celebrate Christmas and I gather you don't."

  "If you mean a tree and all the trimmings, then no. That wasn't my plan.”

  "If we stay, you won't have any choice," she warned.

  "Sure I will," he corrected. "You won't find any decorations in the house and I'm not going out and buying any at this late date.”

  "Fair enough."

  "I mean it, Lauren. No Christmas. I came here to escape all that.”

  "I mean it, too, Alessandro. You feel free to spend Christmas your way. Nick and I will celebrate it in our own fashion. If that's not acceptable, we'll find someplace else to stay."

  "There is no place else,” he reminded.

  She shrugged, smiling as though she didn't have a care in the world. "Then that's that. Discussion over."

  He wished he could believe her. But from what little he knew of Lauren, he was willing to bet the discussion had just begun—a fact she'd explain to him. And if he didn't get it the first or second time, no doubt she'd explain it to him some more until he did. Not that she'd win this particular battle. He was adamant.

  No Christmas and that was final.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Five days before Christmas...

  She came to him again, all silk and sweetness and heady feminine perfume. Escaping their bed, she crossed the room to stare out of the window. Her hair was unbound, flowing down her back to conceal her nudity in a sheet of blush-gold.

  "It's snowing," she said, a note of wonder. "Spring's sittin' on our porch, bangin' at the door and yet, darned if we don't have snow on the ground."

  Alessandro lifted onto his elbow and patted the empty space next to him. "All the more reason for you to come back to bed, bella mia. We can stay right here until the snow’s melted and spring comes for real."

  She glanced at him over her shoulder, her dark brown eyes filled with curiosity. "Did you know...Every once in a while you have an itty-bitty hint of an accent.”

  "I'm not supposed to have one at all."

  "Then why do you?"

  "Italian was my first language," he explained with a shrug. "We learned it as children at home. My family still speaks it when we're all together. Once you meet them, you’ll realize my accent is the least noticeable of all my brothers."

  "That’s deliberate, isn't it?"

  As usual, she seemed to possess the uncanny ability to see right through him, to sense his innermost thoughts and feelings. It should have made him wary. Instead, he welcomed the intimacy and openly encouraged the connection between them. "Yes, it’s deliberate."

  She approached the bed and he could see her features more clearly now. They were Rhonda's.... And yet, they weren't. Her nose was smaller and straighter than he remembered, her mouth wider and more generous, her chin and cheekbones more elegantly carved.

  "Why is it deliberate?" she asked.

  “Because it's a weakness.”

  She tumbled into the bed beside him. "You mean it betrays a weakness, betrays when you're feeling emotional or—"

  He swept her into his arms. "Or when I feel like making love to you. Like now."

  She grinned, "I'll remember that. In fact, darlin', I intend to take shameless advantage of it."

  He couldn't resist, he whispered the words that betrayed him, words of love in a language made for love. And with each new endearment, she unfurled, opening to him like a flower to the gathering warmth of spring.

  He was helpless to resist.

  Whack!

  He wanted her. Whack!

  Needed her. Whack! Whack!

  Took— Whack! Whack! Whack!

  "What the hell is going on?"

  Alessandro leaped from the bed and crossed to the bay window in two swift strides. The first struggling rays of daylight were penetrating the darkness of the surrounding woods. Another series of whacks came from a stand of trees a short distance away. He couldn't say how he knew, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind that when he went to investigate he'd find a slender elf
there. It also didn't take much effort to figure out what she was doing.

  He swore beneath his breath, the slew of Italian words infuriating him all the more. It signaled a loss of control. Dammit all! He was supposed to be the dispassionate Salvatore. The analytical one. The one who rarefy lost his temper and even more rarely displayed any depth of emotion. Hadn't that been one of Rhonda's chief complaints? According to his dear ex-wife, his passion for life had never equaled hers. Of course, he hadn't been able to equal her abrupt loss of passion, either. Rhonda had a talent for falling in love almost as rapidly as she fell out of it, regardless of whether it was over a job, a hobby, a social cause...or a husband.

  Another series of rapid-fire blows had Alessandro dressing with swift efficiency. Leaving his bedroom, he paused long enough to check in on a soundly sleeping Nick and to assure himself that Lauren was indeed gone before striding for the back door. This time when he left the house, he snatched his coat off the rack and thrust his feet into boots.

  The sharp crack of splitting wood echoed across the mountaintop as Alessandro stepped outside and he plowed through the snowdrifts toward the source of the sound. He found Lauren in the midst of a dense stand of Douglas firs, his ax slung across her shoulder, grinning triumphantly down at the small tree she'd just felted.

  "You are a beauty," she crooned to the poor, helpless evergreen. Grabbing one of the lower branches she struggled backward, dragging it through the snow and talking all the way, the words coming in breathless pants. "Now, I don't want you to feel bad about this. You and I both know you wouldn't have lasted past another year or two. It's much too crowded in here and you were bound to have all your light and water stolen by your bigger brothers and sisters. This way, instead of starving to death, you get to come home with me where you can give my Nicky a beautiful Christmas. Now isn't that a more noble purpose?"

  "If it answers back, let me know," Alessandro said dryly.